In the Modern Era, from the late 15th to the late 18th century, fishing activities were a fundamental concern for coastal populations. These activities could involve shoreline fishing for personal sustenance through a gathering economy or larger-scale fishing to earn money and accumulate significant capital. This capital could then be reinvested in other ventures, such as privateering, as seen with the people of Saint-Malo. Thus, in the modern era, fishing served as a means for coastal populations to maintain their status, develop, and even achieve wealth.
From Gathering to Small-Scale Fishing
To begin with, we analyze the gathering activities that predominated in coastal societies during the modern era. The collection of “fruits of the sea” was common among coastal populations. This term was used by Europeans to describe marine resources readily available on the shore. For example, people gathered seaweed, such as kelp, that was either washed ashore or harvested along the coasts of the Atlantic, the Channel, or the Mediterranean. Other natural materials were also collected, such as pebbles, sand, or rocks dislodged by storms and rough seas. However, from the 18th century onward, authorities began restricting these practices to prevent coastal erosion. For instance, Pampelonne Beach near Saint-Tropez was long used as a sand reservoir for construction across the Côte d’Azur; today, it is a protected and highly sought-after tourist destination.
“Fruits of the sea” were also sought after by small-scale shore fishers, who collected various products while walking along the coast. These included shellfish, oysters, mussels, cockles, and the like. This type of gathering primarily occurred in tidal zones, particularly along the waters of the Atlantic Ocean, the Channel, or the North Sea. During low tide, when the “foreshore” was exposed, gatherers would come to these areas to engage in their activities.
For instance, they might collect natural sponges, which were fished in Sardinia, Sicily, Tunisia, and Greek waters.
Another lucrative activity practiced by some was coral fishing. Coral, especially red coral, was highly valued in the Mediterranean and beyond, used in small quantities in pharmacology and extensively in jewelry and goldsmithing. During the modern era, red coral was often presented to notable visitors; for example, when Marie de’ Medici visited Marseille to marry King Henry, she was given a coral branch as a welcome gift.
Among all the marine resources mentioned, salt was the most significant. It was essential for both metabolism and food preservation. Sea salt was obtained using similar methods along the Atlantic and Mediterranean coasts: small dikes were constructed, creating “pans” where water was trapped and eventually evaporated to reveal salt. These systems existed in France, notably in Hyères on the Giens Peninsula, as well as in Guérande and Bourgneuf, and throughout Europe, including Venice and Setúbal.
Until the late Middle Ages, salt marshes were mainly operated by monasteries and feudal lords. However, starting in the 14th century, the state replaced these institutions and organized salt marsh exploitation for its own benefit. In France, the state sought to control salt production by introducing a tax on salt known as the “gabelle” during the Hundred Years’ War.
In all these cases, “shoreline fishing” was omnipresent. It involved fishing on foot, where people would go at low tide to collect shellfish, crustaceans, or small fish with bare hands or a net. It also included small-scale coastal fishing, conducted near the shore using fishing boats. Fishermen would leave the port in the morning and return in the evening, often before nightfall.
However, this type of coastal fishing developed later in western regions compared to the Mediterranean. Until the 15th century, people in western areas like Gascony, Normandy, Brittany, and Flanders hesitated to venture far from the coast due to fears of the “kingdom of the dead,” a context of “repulsion” from the sea.
Offshore and Deep-Sea Fishing
Offshore fishing involved staying away from the coast for several days. In the Mediterranean, this included bluefin tuna fishing using nets. In northwest Europe, it primarily involved herring fishing, a specialty of the Dutch during the modern era. According to historian Alain Cabantous, the Dutch even became a “herring civilization.” However, in the 17th century, herring prices declined, making it a symbol of popular consumption. Preservation techniques improved, allowing the fish to be cleaned, gutted, and packed in barrels onboard or smoked or preserved in jars with water and white vinegar.
Today, herring remains widely fished and consumed in this part of Europe and is symbolically celebrated during popular festivals, such as the maritime carnivals in Dunkirk, Douai, Dieppe, Calais, and Boulogne-sur-Mer.
Deep-sea fishing, mainly practiced near Newfoundland by Saint-Malo fishers, was the most prestigious type of fishing. It generated enormous fortunes, as seen with the fishermen of Saint-Malo, who reinvested their earnings in privateering. Some corsairs used the money earned from cod fishing to arm privateer ships, capture galleons, and further their fortunes.
Deep-sea fishing involved leaving the home port for several weeks to fish in the high seas. Newfoundland’s fishing grounds were frequented and explored from the early 16th century when Europeans searched for a northern passage around the Americas. The most sought-after fish in this area was cod. Norwegian fishers from Bergen were the first to target this species, much larger than the herring favored by the Dutch.
Soon, these Scandinavians were imitated by other European cod fishers, notably the English and French. As a result, Newfoundland became a political hotspot and a focal point of international relations among European states. For instance, after the War of the Spanish Succession, the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713 required France to cede much of Newfoundland to the English.
However, France retained a few small islands, such as Saint-Pierre and Miquelon, enabling continued deep-sea fishing activities.
Cod caught for European consumption was prepared in two ways: salted and dried onshore (known as “codfish” or “bacalhau”) or preserved onboard in brine (known as “green cod”). The latter required less preparation but had a shorter shelf life. These techniques illustrate the innovative methods fishermen employed to optimize their yields.
The Regency (1715-1723) refers to the minority period of Louis XV during which power was exercised by the prince of royal blood Philippe II, Duke of Orléans (Philippe d’Orléans). Upon Louis XIV’s death, the Grand Siècle came to an end. France, exhausted by twelve years of war, had as its new king Louis XV, a five-year-old child. The new Regent would pursue a policy of reaction against the absolutism established by Louis XIV. After the twilight and austere end of the Sun King’s reign, a new period of balls and festivities began. The new Regent attempted in vain to restore the finances depleted by previous wars but could not avoid Law’s bankruptcy and sought alliance with England.
Regency and Contestation of Louis XIV’s Will
The end of Louis XIV’s reign was marked by a series of successive deaths. The death of the Grand Dauphin in 1711, followed the next year by that of his son, the Duke of Burgundy, pushed the king to legitimize his illegitimate children. At his death, he had only one direct heir left, his great-grandson, aged only five. Louis XIV had settled in his will the problem of the inevitable Regency. It rightfully belonged to his closest relative, his nephew Philippe, Duke of Orléans, son of Monsieur Philippe II, Duke of Orléans, the king’s brother, and his second wife, the Princess Palatine.
But the king hardly liked this too brilliant nephew whose irreligion and cynicism he feared and whom he reproached for being a “braggart of crime.” Thus, he had organized a Regency Council, placed under Philippe II, Duke of Orléans’ presidency, and had decided to give the guardianship of the future Louis XV to the Duke of Maine, his legitimized bastard born from his affair with Madame de Montespan. This will, dated August 2, 1714, had been delivered to parliament on August 26 and walled up in a tower of the Palace of Justice. Two codicils had further reinforced the Duke of Maine’s powers.
Upon Louis XIV’s death, a tide of courtiers rushed to the Duke of Orléans, but they had to wait for the will’s opening. On September 2, the document was read aloud by a parliament counselor. According to Saint-Simon’s words, the Duke of Maine was “bursting with joy” when Philippe spoke up to protest against the prejudice done to him. The game was actually played in advance with magistrates favorable to the Duke of Orléans. The compliant parliament simply annulled the will. In exchange, it was restored the right of remonstrance suppressed for sixty years: such was the price Philippe II, Duke of Orléans paid for his right to the regency.
Philippe II, Duke of Orléans: The Regent
The new regent’s victory was total, with the Duke of Maine not even retaining custody of the royal child. The latter, with his governess Madame de Ventadour, left Versailles on September 9 and crossed Paris by carriage under the crowd’s acclamations, before settling at the Château de Vincennes. The same day, Louis XIV’s mortal remains were buried at Saint-Denis. To confirm Philippe II, Duke of Orléans’ regency, the little king still needed to hold a lit de justice, and on September 12, 1715, the child, before all parliamentarians, had his uncle proclaimed regent of the kingdom. The Orléans had won victory over the legitimized ones.
Born in 1674, the new Regent had reached his forties in 1714 and was attractive for his beauty, intelligence, and culture. He had Abbé Dubois as his tutor, who had known how to develop the talents of a student equally gifted in arts and sciences. In 1692, the young prince had been married, by the king’s order, to Mademoiselle de Blois, Louis XIV’s legitimized daughter with Madame de Montespan. In 1707, he had fought in Spain, then distinguished himself at Lérida. Following various intrigues, he had been kept away from the armies and the Court, where he was viewed without sympathy, and had lived in retirement. He was mainly interested in painting, chemistry, and even alchemy, while seeking less innocent distractions.
The “small suppers” at the Palais-Royal, where Philippe II, Duke of Orléans resided, gathered merry companies whose libertinage reacted against the Court’s morose etiquette. The prince’s scandalous reputation had earned him accusations of sorcery and even of poisoning the Dukes of Burgundy and Brittany. But Louis XIV himself, despite his little affection for his nephew, had rejected these calumnies. The new regent’s undeniable qualities were unfortunately masked by his natural nonchalance and the disastrous influence of his friends.
The Polysynody
Portrait of Philippe II, Duke of Orléans (1674-1723) then the “Regent of France” with the sash of the Order of the Holy Spirit, wearing armour. Credit: Public Domain
The eight years of the Regency appeared as a reaction against everything that had characterized the end of the previous reign. After the severity that had been the rule in Louis XIV’s final years, the aristocracy threw itself unreservedly into a life of pleasures. The Regent’s companions, the “roués,” so named because they were deemed worthy of being tortured on the wheel, set the tone for this unbridled license through which the French avenged themselves for too long imposed austerity. “Long live the time of the lovely Regency,” wrote a contemporary, “when everything was done, except penance.” In reality, only high society was seized by this thirst for pleasures, but its scandalous reputation remained attached to the name of Regency, synonymous with debauchery and corruption.
The same reaction manifested in the politics followed by Philippe II, Duke of Orléans from the first days of the Regency, for, inspired by Fénelon and Saint-Simon’s ideas, this liberal prince with advanced ideas wanted to break ministerial absolutism. “He loved liberty greatly and as much for others as for himself,” said his friend Saint-Simon. Louis XIV had systematically evicted great lords from government councils, and the Regent wanted to give them back a predominant place in the country.
Mainly at Saint-Simon’s instigation, he replaced the ministers with eight councils of ten members, composed of great lords and State counselors: besides the Regency Council, there was the Council of Conscience, in charge of religious affairs and presided over by Cardinal de Noailles, the Council of Internal Affairs which, under the Duke d’Antin’s authority, presided over provincial administrative questions, the Council of Foreign Affairs, presided over by Marshal d’Huxelles, the War Council, entrusted to Marshal de Villars, the Marine Council, placed under Count of Toulouse’s command, the Finance Council, directed by the Duke of Noailles, finally the Commerce Council, placed under Duke de La Force’s high hand.
These councils were to prepare files that were then submitted to the Regent. This system was given the Greek name “polysynody.” In fact, by seeking the support of nobility and all political forces likely to support him, Philippe II, Duke of Orléans was trying to ensure the succession to the throne, in case of young Louis XV’s premature death. The Regent also created a Chamber of Justice, or Burning Chamber, charged with judging those who had enriched themselves at the State’s expense, and opened prison doors to Protestants and Jansenists unjustly incarcerated during Louis XIV’s reign.
The polysynody regime was not destined to last. Already the appointment of counselors had provoked violent competitions in the aristocracy. Then council meetings got lost in obscure precedence quarrels and it became evident that this hundred-headed ministry could not do useful work. As early as August 1718, Abbé Dubois condemned these Fenelonian reveries and councils ceased to meet. The Regent was forced to return to Louis XIV’s reign’s administrative organization and restored the ministers. Similarly, he was forced to show authority towards the too turbulent parliament, and had to exile it to Pontoise in 1720.
The Reversal of Alliances
The Regent had also understood that after so many years of war, the country needed peace. Fearing Philip V of Spain’s ambitions, who, despite treaties, had not renounced his rights to the French crown, he turned to England, whose regime and ideas he appreciated. On his order, Abbé Dubois – “a rascal,” according to the vindictive Saint-Simon – went to negotiate with Stanhope, King George’s minister, an alliance to which Holland and Austria soon after adhered.
This diplomatic about-face could not please Spain. To counter the Regent, Philip V’s ambassador, Prince of Cellamare, sought support in France. He found it at the Château de Sceaux, with the Duke and Duchess of Maine. Granddaughter of the Great Condé, this princess – nicknamed “the blood doll” due to her small size and childish ideas – was still ulcerated by the affront her husband had suffered, having been evicted by parliament during the opening of Louis XIV’s will. A plot was set up at Sceaux in 1718 to kidnap the Duke of Orléans and entrust the regency to Philip V, who delegated his powers to the Duke of Maine. But the affair was discovered by Dubois, the conspirators imprisoned in the Bastille, and Prince of Cellamare asked to return to Madrid.
These events obviously did not ease Franco-Spanish tension. War became inevitable. While Spain opened hostilities against Austria, a French army, commanded by Marshal de Berwick, a veteran of Louis XIV’s armies, crossed the Bidassoa. Spain had to suffer an uninterrupted succession of setbacks: burning of Pasajes and Santona arsenals, captures of Fuenterrabía and San Sebastián. Philip V soon after asked for peace and adhered to the Quadruple Alliance. To seal the reconciliation, it was decided that Louis XV would marry the Infanta Marie-Anne Victoire, then aged three and whose education would be done in France. Saint-Simon went to Madrid to fetch the little girl, whom the little king welcomed with total indifference.
Louis XV was a withdrawn and secretive child, who moreover showed much affection for his uncle.
After being raised with solicitude by his governess, Madame de Ventadour, who had managed to keep him alive despite fragile health, he had been entrusted in 1717 to old Marshal de Villeroy. The little king poorly appreciated the remonstrances of this vain courtier, whom he nicknamed “the old rambler.” As for his education, it was provided by the future Cardinal de Fleury, who, despite accusations of softness and incompetence brought against him by Saint-Simon and Voltaire, managed to give his royal student good knowledge in Latin, grammar, geography, and mathematics.
An Economy in Distress
Diplomatic questions seemed less difficult to resolve than financial problems, which were dramatic following the enormous expenses engaged by Louis XIV at the end of his reign for territorial defense. The public debt of three billion livres represented nearly a third of France’s national fortune, not forgetting the 86 million that were annually necessary to cover its interest. Compared to these figures, that of the kingdom’s revenue budget – 75 million livres – appeared all the more derisory as the expenditure budget reached 140 million livres. Only energetic measures could still avoid a catastrophe and resort to bankruptcy.
Advised by two bankers, the Paris brothers, the Regent resolved to strike hard and fast, and this by three means: the “visa,” the recoinage, and the merciless pursuit of the most important traffickers who, by public notoriety, had largely contributed to impoverishing the Treasury. The “visa” obliged security holders to have them endorsed by the State, which imposed others in exchange. 600 million were declared, which the State replaced with new securities worth a total of 200 million. The debt was thus reduced by 400 million. At the same time, the currency was “recast” following a revaluation of gold.
Finally, the Burning Chamber, installed at the Grands Augustins, constituted by thirty counselors to the Paris parliament, was instituted to examine the origin of fortunes made during the wars. Operating for more than twelve months, it pronounced 1,500 convictions. Some traffickers, besides heavy fines, were sent for life to the king’s galleys, others exposed in shirts at the pillory, in front of Notre-Dame de Paris or at the Grande Halle. A placard, bearing in large characters “thief of the people,” attached to their chest, excited against them the crowd’s hatred and anger.
The convictions had covered the restitution to the State of 200 million livres. However, only 70 million could be recovered, of which barely 15 actually returned to the Treasury’s coffers. This enormous operation ultimately resulted in failure. As early as 1718, the Regent gave up the Burning Chamber, restoring the general controller of Finances and the four Secretaries of State. Money was still as cruelly lacking; public debt had barely decreased by a third.
The Law System and Financial Bankruptcy
In 1717, royal revenues covered current expenses but did not allow for repayment of the very heavy public debt. The Regent then placed his hopes in John Law. This Scotsman established in Paris had developed theoretical thinking about monetary circulation: he particularly aimed at eliminating metallic currency.
Prosperity relied on multiplying monetary symbols, which only significant paper money issuance could make possible.
In October 1715, his state bank project was rejected under pressure from finance circles, who feared being bypassed. Law founded a private bank to facilitate exchanges; its notes were widely distributed. To give his action a commercial base, he took control of the Company of the West, which operated in Louisiana. On December 4, 1718, his bank became royal, and in 1719, the Company extended its influence to all long-distance trade. Law finally took control of tax collection and became Controller General of Finances in January 1720 when the bank and Company merged.
Debt amortization was achieved through massive issues of Company shares, which were subject to terrible speculation as high profits were promised. Eventually, the shares were meant to become real currency, backed by the country’s trade and labor. But weak dividends, limits on commercial growth, and the violent response from the monarchy’s traditional financiers, whom the System condemned, led to a reversal. Above all, the project suffered from a major contradiction: in a society attached to metallic currency, convertibility had to be maintained to acclimatize a widely distributed note that led to metal demonetization, thus to non-convertibility.
Massive redemptions in specie created panic. The System collapsed, and Law was forced to flee in 1720.
France During the Regency
The French had other concerns besides speculators’ setbacks. In 1720, after a ship from Syria docked, a serious plague epidemic hit Marseille, then spread to Toulon and the south of the country, reaching Toulouse and Limousin. Shortly after, a terrible fire devastated Rennes, causing nearly a thousand casualties.
At this time, life was often difficult for city dwellers. The number of beggars increased, and crime was rising. The bandit Cartouche was gaining followers. While many bourgeois managed to get rich, most workers and artisans suffered from price increases that coincided with speculation fever.
In the countryside, peasants’ lifestyles varied according to soil fertility and their status as farmers, sharecroppers, or simple agricultural workers, but overall, barely a third of farmers lived in relative comfort.
Three-quarters of the rural population could neither read nor write. The destitute were outraged by the luxury of the privileged, especially the Court’s debauchery. The “orgies” at the Palais-Royal were gossiped about, often amplified by imitators. While many bourgeois managed to get rich, most workers and artisans suffered from price increases that coincided with speculation fever.
In the countryside, peasants’ lifestyles varied according to soil fertility and their status as farmers, sharecroppers, or simple agricultural workers, but overall, barely a third of farmers lived in relative comfort. Three-quarters of the rural population could neither read nor write. The destitute were outraged by the luxury of the privileged, especially the Court’s debauchery. The “orgies” at the Palais-Royal were gossiped about, often amplified by the Henriade (1723), under the title Poem of the League, after having great success with the tragedy Oedipus.
In the arts, Largillière and Rigaud were still at the height of glory, but Watteau, the painter of “gallant festivities,” had broken with the severity of the grand century, awaiting a Lancret or a Boucher. A more flexible taste was then marked in interiors. Furniture became lighter in boudoirs, which were decorated with “monkey scenes” and “chinoiserie.” Some great collectors, like Pierre Crozat, encouraged artists. Among the patrons was the Regent himself, who had assembled dazzling galleries at the Palais-Royal.
End of the Regency and Death of Philippe II, Duke of Orléans
In 1722, tired of the criticism he received in Paris following Law’s bankruptcy, the Duke of Orléans decided to move the Court to Versailles: this departure delighted Louis XV. The young king was always on excellent terms with his uncle, whose affection he felt. From the age of ten, he had been invited to attend the Regency Council. On October 25, 1722, the royal child went, according to tradition, to be solemnly crowned at Reims. Very handsome in his white satin costume and purple velvet mantle, Louis the Well-Beloved deserved the nickname given to him. A few months later, on February 16, 1723, his majority was proclaimed.
A thirteen-year-old king could not govern: he asked his uncle to continue managing the kingdom’s affairs. The Regency Council was simply substituted by the High Council, and Dubois, made cardinal due to services rendered to the Regent, was officially confirmed in his position as Prime Minister. The new cardinal was then seriously ill: he died the following August (1723), and the Duke of Orléans in turn took the title of Prime Minister.
The former Regent felt very tired himself. He had lived much and continued, despite three successive strokes, to lead a merry life — which did not prevent him from working tirelessly on State affairs. Death took him suddenly, on December 2, 1723, in his office at Versailles, in the presence of his friend, the Duchess of Falari. He was sincerely mourned by the king, as well as by foreign courts who had admired his spirit of conciliation and his clairvoyance. With the Regent’s death, an era was over and Louis XV’s reign truly began.
The last major outbreak of the plague in Europe occurred in 1720 and is known as the “Plague of Marseille.” It claimed 40,000 lives out of the 75,000 inhabitants of the Phocean city, which was experiencing its twentieth epidemic of this disease since antiquity. In the 15th century, the city was struck nine times. In the 17th century, thanks to the efforts of Cardinal Richelieu and later Louis XIV, suspicious ships were barred from docking, port authorities were vigilant, and sanitary certificates were required before docking. Based on these documents, quarantines were imposed when necessary. However, under the Regency and its relaxed attitudes, the situation changed drastically.
How Did the Plague Reach Marseille in 1720?
On May 14, 1720, a Dutch merchant ship, the Grand Saint Antoine, approached one of the islets of the Frioul archipelago near Marseille. It carried precious fabrics and bales of cotton worth 100,000 écus from Asia. According to some accounts, the ship had departed from Seyde on January 31 and stopped at ports where the plague was active, such as Damascus. In Tripoli, after a storm damaged the sails, it replaced them with those from a vessel whose crew had died of the plague. Others claim the ship had “clean bills of health,” certified by non-infected ports.
Despite these claims, deaths occurred on board: a passenger, seven sailors, and the ship’s surgeon. Aware of the severity of the illness, the captain stopped in Livorno to obtain a diagnostic certificate from Italian authorities mentioning “malignant pestilential fever” before docking in Marseille. Another sailor died on May 27.
The ship’s cargo, owned by Captain Chataud and notable citizens of Marseille, including Alderman Estelle, was unloaded within just four days to be sold quickly at the Beaucaire markets. Normally, suspicious ships were rigorously inspected and quarantined. Although slightly concerned, the authorities imposed only a light quarantine on the Grand Saint Antoine at the island of Jarre, releasing the sailors after just 20 days. By then, the plague had already infiltrated the city’s streets.
First Victims of the 1720 Plague
On June 20, a 58-year-old washerwoman collapsed in a street with a bubo near her lip. On June 28, a tailor and his wife in the same neighborhood died, followed by another woman on July 1 with a sore on her nose. The first victims had come into contact with the infected cargo; the plague-carrying fleas were in the folds of the fabrics. A rat flea bite led to septicemia, killing the patient within three days.
The disease spread rapidly, with one or two deaths daily in the overcrowded city, where hygiene was appalling. By July 9, doctors suspected the plague when they discovered a 13-year-old boy infected and informed the authorities. Guards were stationed outside the boy’s house, but the municipality tried to conceal the deaths to prevent disrupting commerce. From that moment, the disease was acknowledged as the plague—the bacterium was later named Yersinia pestis in 1894, after researcher Alexandre Yersin.
Whole neighborhoods were affected when Dr. Peyssonel, one of the city’s physicians, warned the aldermen on July 18 that the danger was imminent. On July 23, 14 people died in a single street. The terrified population began to realize the plague’s presence, but authorities merely stationed guards at infected streets, relocating sick families under the cover of night.
Dr. Peyssonel alerted neighboring towns, prompting swift reactions. Trade and travel with Marseille were banned, and across Languedoc, Provence, and as far as Rodez and Toulouse, individuals from Provence were quarantined. Goods were aired for 40 days, and travel required health certificates. Letters from Marseille and nearby areas had to be disinfected in the presence of local consuls.
Plague Peaks
By July 30, there were 40 deaths daily. On August 9, the toll rose to 100. By August 15, it reached 300, and on August 30, 1,000 daily deaths were recorded. The city ran out of space for corpses. The finest promenade, the Cours, was overrun by the sick. Forced laborers, or “corbeaux,” collected bodies for burial in mass graves. With no laborers left, the municipality conscripted convicts to transport corpses, but even they succumbed within six days.
The heat worsened the situation, as decaying bodies produced a nauseating stench.
Burial pits were covered with lime and earth, and churches opened their crypts for the deceased. Eventually, infected houses were fumigated, and bodies were incinerated. Helpers wore the iconic plague doctor costume designed by Dr. De Lorme, featuring a beaked mask stuffed with aromatic herbs, leather boots, gloves, and a protective coat.
A City in Crisis
By mid-September, Marseille was sealed off, and letters, fabrics, and the Grand Saint Antoine were burned on Jarre Island on September 26. However, the plague had already spread inland to Provence and Languedoc. On September 21, 400 deaths were recorded. Prominent individuals, such as the Chevalier Roze and Bishop Belsunce, worked tirelessly, risking their lives to help the sick, bury the dead, and provide spiritual support.
The epidemic left a profound mark on Marseille, remembered as one of Europe’s last devastating outbreaks of the plague.
Toward the End of Misery
At the end of September 1720, a few poor individuals, leaning on sticks nicknamed “the sticks of Saint Roch,” wandered the streets in search of food. These people had survived the plague. From their accounts, it was concluded that one does not catch the plague twice. Meanwhile, residents began returning to Marseille, only to be astonished by a deserted and nearly lifeless city.
The death toll began to decline from October 1. Beggars were sent to La Charité hospital, which became specialized in treating the plague. On November 1, 1720, Bishop Belsunce placed the city under the protection of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, celebrating a Mass with a procession and the offering of a candle bearing the city’s coat of arms. By November 30, the daily death toll had dropped to just two to five people.
In response, the Papal States constructed the Plague Wall in Vaucluse (near Gordes and Murs) to protect the Comtat Venaissin. This dry-stone wall stretched 27 kilometers.
In March 1721, another wall was built, guarded by French troops, to protect surrounding territories. This second wall, spanning between the Durance River and Mont Ventoux, prevented any interaction between the Comtat Venaissin and the Dauphiné, which had not yet been affected.
Following Years
By February 1721, the plague had subsided in Marseille. However, the disease spread to Toulon and Aix-en-Provence. Strangely, in March-April of the same year, cases reappeared in Marseille, causing around 250 deaths. These cases, though, were less contagious and were considered relapses.
The city authorities acted swiftly. They closed the city gates and built two hospitals—one for the wealthy and one for the poor, the latter funded by the city. The epidemic was contained, and life slowly returned to normal. Survivors emerged, happy to reunite and resume their lives.
In June, however, another twenty people were struck by the disease. Physicians reassured the public and implemented procedures. Each neighborhood was assigned a commissioner with workers tasked with cleaning infected houses marked by red crosses.
After disposing of all belongings, three fumigations were carried out: one with aromatic herbs, another with gunpowder, and the last with arsenic and other substances. Finally, one or two layers of lime were applied to the walls and floors.
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The issue of disinfecting ships arose as well, requiring cargo to be sent to nearby islands. Churches, where bodies had been stored in crypts, had their doors sealed and all joints cemented. The last task in eradicating the plague was to recover stolen goods. When residents fled their homes, thieves often took advantage of the situation. Extensive searches were conducted, and the community worked together to restore peace and normalcy.
Toll of the 1720 Plague in Marseille
Marseille’s population, which was about 90,000 at the start of 1720, was halved: 40,000 people died in the city, and another 10,000 in the surrounding areas. In total, 120,000 deaths were recorded in southeastern France.
Captain Chataud, blamed for causing the disaster, was accused of deception and imprisoned. On September 8, 1720, he was sent to Château d’If, charged with “violating health ordinances, making false declarations, allowing goods to enter before proper quarantine, and facilitating the escape of a crew member during quarantine.” On April 7, 1721, he was transferred to the royal prisons of the Admiralty. Forgotten until July 8, 1723, he was finally declared “beyond prosecution” and released on August 3.
In 1802, a statue of Bishop Belsunce was erected on the Cours, later moved to the forecourt of the Cathédrale de la Major. Streets in the city bear the names of the city aldermen, and a commemorative plaque honoring them is displayed in the Museum of the History of Marseille.
Contrary to popular belief, geishas were not prostitutes or courtesans. The word “geisha” literally means “person of the arts.” These women entertained guests at banquets called ozashiki in the homes of noble lords, where they served as musicians, dancers, comedians, poured drinks, and engaged in sophisticated conversation.
Additionally, geishas organized various parlor games like tosenkyo (a fan-throwing game) or Japanese versions of “rock, paper, scissors,” and served sake to the losers. They provided musical accompaniment at banquets, playing instruments like the shamisen (similar to a Japanese balalaika), ko-tsuzumi (a shoulder-held Japanese drum), and the fue (flute). If guests wanted to compete in composing haikus, painting, or dancing, geishas would participate as well.
It is more accurate to compare geishas to hosts, singers, dancers, entertainers, and hostesses (all rolled into one) rather than to prostitutes.
If a geisha wanted to offer sexual services, she would risk punishment, as it was legally forbidden for her to engage in prostitution or even to be seen near yūjo—the term for actual prostitutes in Japan. While it is unlikely that this rule was never broken, the prohibition still existed.
The misconception that yūjo and geishas were the same likely arose due to American soldiers after World War II. Many prostitutes then pretended to be geishas to earn more money, even though they weren’t entitled to that title. The Americans, unfamiliar with the distinction, began conflating the two.
Geisha Is an Exclusively Female Profession
When we hear the word “geisha,” we immediately imagine a Japanese woman with an unusual hairstyle and a face covered in white powder. The fact is, being a geisha wasn’t necessarily a female profession.
The first geishas were men—they were called taikomochi, which translates as “drum carrier,” or hōkan, meaning “jester.” They were comedians, musicians, actors, and tea ceremony experts. They told jokes and entertained guests in noble households or drew patrons into taverns and brothels with bawdy anecdotes.
This profession began in the 12th century, and at that time hōkan were called doboshu—“companions,” as they not only entertained the hosts but also served as advisors, conversation partners, and companions. Later, with the end of the Sengoku period in the early 17th century, female jesters began to appear. The first was named Kasen—she was initially a prostitute but managed to pay off her contract and, having gained her freedom, became the first female geisha.
Today, there are about five taikomochi left in the world. They organize celebrations, contests, and act as hosts. You can even find their performances on YouTube, which might amuse those who know Japanese.
Additionally, men known as hosuto—Japanese men who, for a fee, can take you on a date, shower you with compliments, and drink with you—could be considered male geishas.
Geishas Always Wear Makeup
Geishas are often imagined wearing traditional o-shiroi makeup (literally “white” in Japanese), which is based on wax. Their lips were painted red using safflower lipstick called beni.
However, contrary to belief, geishas did not always wear makeup.
It was mainly the maiko, apprentice geishas, and beginner geishas who applied white makeup, while experienced geishas only did so for especially important ceremonies. At a certain age, makeup was not worn at all, as it was believed that the beauty of an older woman did not require cosmetic enhancement.
Similarly, with hair: complex hairstyles with numerous decorations were worn by inexperienced maiko, while older, trained women opted for simpler shimadas. Elderly geishas merely tied their hair into a “shell” shape.
All Geishas Were Young and Beautiful
From an old Japanese perspective, geishas were indeed considered a decoration for any celebration, but their standards of beauty differed from ours.
In ancient times, due to their profession, geishas often suffered from skin issues. The makeup they used contained lead-based white pigment, leading to lead poisoning in women up until the 20th century.
The makeup was also rather peculiar: for instance, a cosmetic product called uguisu-no-fun was made from nightingale droppings.
The word uguisu-no-fun translates to “nightingale excrement.” In Japan, it was considered prestigious and fashionable to apply this substance to the face, which supposedly gave the skin smoothness and whiteness. Modern researchers, however, doubt that the urea and guanine in bird droppings are beneficial for the skin, although the high pH of uguisu-no-fun was used for whitening bed sheets.
Due to the tight hairstyles, geishas often experienced hair loss, but they even managed to take pride in their bald spots.
These bald spots were considered a sign that a geisha had spent enough time as an apprentice, meaning she was well-trained.
With age, geishas often abandoned such self-inflicted harm and adopted a more natural appearance. Many of them continued to work well into old age. Moreover, older geishas were more valued in Japanese culture, as it was believed that a woman’s beauty fully blossoms with age.
The oldest known geisha, Yuko Asakusa, lived to 96. Born in 1923, she began her career at 16 and continued until her death in 2019.
So if you invited a geisha, it’s not guaranteed that a young beauty with a clear voice would greet you. It might instead be an older lady, skillfully serving tea and telling captivating stories.
A Geisha’s Smile is Enough to Enchant a Man
Another detail that adds allure to the image of a geisha is her smile. However, it was not as captivating as we might think.
Geishas followed the Japanese custom of blackening their teeth—ohaguro. As a dye, they used juices from various herbs and fruits, as well as a liquid made from galls—parasitic growths on plant leaves caused by viruses, bacteria, fungi, and arthropods. This was not a particularly pleasant procedure.
To prepare ohaguro, the dye was mixed with water and sake in a special container, into which heated rusty iron rods were placed. The mixture was left for a week and then poured into the mouth. Yes, the Japanese had some strange customs.
You probably wouldn’t want to kiss a geisha, as the teeth treated with ohaguro had an unpleasant odor. In 1870, ohaguro was banned for all nobles, including members of the imperial family. Apparently, even the emperor was bothered by the bad breath.
Interestingly, yūjo (prostitutes) rarely blackened their teeth. As a result, ohaguro became associated with the integrity of married women, where the durability of the dye symbolized loyalty to their husbands.
Geishas Were Dressed to the Nines
In movies, geishas are often portrayed as women not only with unnatural makeup but also dressed in extravagantly bright clothing. But this isn’t quite true. Colorful attire was the domain of yūjo (prostitutes) and oiran (more expensive prostitutes).
Among geishas, only apprentices and novice geishas wore bright, ornate kimonos. More experienced women dressed more simply and modestly. Compare, for example, the attire and hairstyle of a geisha and an oiran in the image above: the former wears a plain kimono and simple hairstyle, while the latter has a vibrant outfit and hair adorned with ornaments.
Additionally, oiran and yūjo, for understandable reasons, tied their kimono belts in a way that made them easy to untie. Geishas, on the other hand, were dressed by a special dresser, otokoshi, and could not remove their belts without assistance.
All Geishas are Japanese
When Japan was an isolated and closed country with no entry for gaijins (foreigners), this was true. But starting in the 1970s, geishas from other countries began to appear. Naturally, they adopted Japanese pseudonyms, as is customary in this profession.
There have been geishas from the USA, China, Romania, Ukraine, Peru, and Australia. They trained in special okiya houses and, therefore, had the full right to be called geishas.
Geishas Were Sold into Slavery
Due to the movie Memoirs of a Geisha, based on the novel of the same name, many believe that young girls were literally sold into slavery by their impoverished parents. But this isn’t entirely accurate.
Many new girls entered the geisha houses (the so-called okiya) quite voluntarily to earn money and receive an education and a profession. Other maiko (apprentice geishas) were the daughters of adult geishas, inheriting the craft. However, it often happened that poor girls with no other way to pay off debts became geishas (which was clearly better than being a yūjo).
Incidentally, Mineko Iwasaki, who inspired the character in Memoirs of a Geisha, was outraged by how geishas were depicted in the book. She sued the novel’s author, Arthur Golden, and later wrote her own book, Geisha, A Life.
Today, girls become geishas by choice at the age of 15, and they are required to have a school diploma beforehand.
If you think that geishas have long since disappeared into history, you are quite mistaken: they still exist in Japan today! They host tea ceremonies, serve in traditional Japanese restaurants, and work as musicians, comedians, and masters of ceremonies.
However, real geishas today are rare, and their numbers are dwindling. So, if you find yourself in Japan, you are more likely to take a selfie with a painted female entertainer who has no knowledge of the ancient Eastern art.
The Celts are Indo-European peoples originating from the Danube Valley, who settled in much of Europe in antiquity. These tribes spoke the same language, with variations, and shared certain religious beliefs. They were the disseminators of the Iron Age civilization in Western Europe. Most historians refuse to speak of a “Celtic civilization,” instead referring to a Celtic world with linguistic and cultural similarities. Organized into countless tribes and fluid federations, the Celts of Gaul were industrious and ingenious farmers, as well as fierce warriors and savvy merchants, in contact with the ancient Mediterranean world.
What Are the Origins of the Celts?
The Celts were an “Indo-European” people originally from Central Asia, who settled in Southern Russia around 2500 BCE. At the beginning of the Bronze Age, their military aristocracy conducted numerous plundering expeditions to the Near East and Greece, then the group dispersed around 2000 BCE. Some of the Celts moved towards the North Sea, while others headed towards Central Europe (Bohemia), where they developed the bronze industry.
Around 1250 BCE, the Celts in Europe gave rise to the so-called “Urnfield” civilization, named for the large number of funerary urns containing the ashes of the deceased. These burial sites also reveal great skill in crafting ceramics and long, straight swords. Urnfields began to appear in France around 1200 BCE.
The Expansion of the Celts: Hallstatt and La Tène Periods
Around 1000 BCE, the Celtic civilization of Hallstatt developed in the Austrian Alps, named after a village near Salzburg where around 20,000 objects were found in numerous tombs. These artifacts reveal the wealth of the Celtic people, who produced refined jewelry, decorated vases, and mastered ironwork to create formidable weapons. This warrior people expanded westward to southern Germany, Switzerland, and, by the early 8th century BCE, into present-day France.
By 500 BCE, at the beginning of the Iron Age in Northern Europe, the Celts occupied all of Northern and Western Gaul, from Carcassonne to Switzerland, and founded the La Tène civilization (named after a village near Neuchâtel, where large tombs containing two-wheeled chariots were found in 1881). This people built wooden and earthen houses grouped on fortified oppida, constructed places of worship, and fought using chariots, iron swords, and helmets.
The Celts of La Tène began, in the 5th century BCE, the conquest of new territories further south: they subdued part of Provence, while in 390 BCE, Ambicat, king of the Bituriges Celts, captured Northern Italy (later known as “Cisalpine Gaul”). The Senones of Brennus boldly confronted the Romans and sacked the city of Rome (390 BCE), sparing only the Capitol thanks to sacred geese whose cries alerted the defenders.
Other Celts pushed further east: in the early 2nd century BCE, they settled in the Balkans and sacked Greece. They then founded a kingdom in Thrace, on the shores of the Black Sea, and in Asia Minor (Galatia, the land of the Galatians). Indeed, this term used by the Greeks to describe the Celts likely meant “those from elsewhere” or “the invaders.” Cato the Elder translated it as “Galli,” which became “Gauls.” Most of the Gauls were thus, in the end, Celts occupying the western part of Europe.
History of the Celts in Gaul
In the 4th century BCE, the Celts continued their conquest of the Rhône Valley and targeted Marseille. The city resisted the invasion to maintain its independence. Meanwhile, the Allobroges settled north of the Isère, the Voconces north of the Ventoux, the Tricastins in the Drôme Valley, the Cavares between Valence and Avignon, the Arécomices from Orange to Narbonne, and the Tectosages from Narbonne to Toulouse. According to some sources, a certain Ambigat, king of the Bituriges (Bourges), dominated most of the central Gaulish peoples.
Settled in southern Gaul, the Celts developed an “oppida civilization,” with oppida like Ensérune near Béziers or Entremont (north of Aix-en-Provence). They facilitated trade both northward, along the Rhône, and westward, along the Garonne, towards Carcassonne, Toulouse, and even the Atlantic, through which tin from future England was transported.
Economic Activity
During the period from about 1000 to 600 BCE, corresponding to most of the “Hallstatt civilization,” the economy remained close to subsistence level, except for the warrior aristocracy. However, this aristocracy likely held power over relatively small communities and governed small territories (five to ten kilometers around the center). Trade was mainly along an east-west axis, linking German mining areas that supplied copper and tin to western regions that used these minerals to manufacture bronze objects.
But from the beginning of the 6th century BCE, the foundation of Marseille by the Greek Phocaeans and the development of the Provençal hinterland led to the creation of a new north-south trade route of great importance. Numerous products of Greek, Marseillaise, or Etruscan origin, having traveled through the Rhône Valley and the Alpine passes, have been found in Gaul and in Northern and Western Europe: wine, gold and silver tableware, bronze and ivory objects, jewelry, weapons, and more. From the north, raw materials and semi-finished goods (wood, metals, resin, pitch, amber, salt, wool, hides) were sent south; the north also provided mercenaries and slaves.
These facts explain the decline of the Hallstatt civilization, but one must also consider the aggressive southward movement of the Celts of La Tène, who had preserved their warrior traditions. The slowdown in trade combined with several other factors: population pressure, worsening climatic conditions, and decreasing food resources.
Celtic Art and the Vix Grave
The Vix Krater, an imported Greek wine-mixing vessel found in the famous grave of the “Lady of Vix”. Credit: Wikimedia, CC BY-SA 3.0
Four artistic styles are observed during the Hallstatt and La Tène periods. During the first civilization, Celtic art used geometric and abstract ornamental forms. The main source of inspiration was nature, specifically plants. Greek and Etruscan influences are evident, particularly in the use of Greek scrollwork, but there was no figuration. Art was mainly present on valuable objects: sword scabbards, jewelry, cups, etc.
The continuous vegetal style evolved from the first style and was no longer influenced by Mediterranean styles by the 4th century BCE. The use of two-dimensional vegetal motifs, less geometric in appearance, characterized this new style. Enameling and glassmaking developed. By the 3rd century BCE, the plastic style used geometric volumes to create figures through combinations. The sword style that developed alongside the plastic style used incised vegetal motifs, inspired by the vegetal style, to decorate, among other things, armament pieces.
The Tomb of Vix was discovered in 1953 in Burgundy near Mont Lassois, the site of one of the great princely residences of the Hallstatt civilization. Located at the heart of a large funerary complex composed of a dozen necropolises, the Vix tomb is the richest and demonstrates the care the Celts took in honoring their most illustrious dead.
Dating from the 5th century BCE, this tomb, likely of a princess, reveals the wealth of the aristocracy that also controlled trade: the deceased wore a gold diadem, an amber bead necklace, a bronze torque, and bracelets. The funerary chamber also contained a disassembled chariot, a 1.65-meter-tall Greek bronze vase, and other bronze objects of Etruscan origin. These trade routes clearly connected the heart of Gaul with the Mediterranean world several centuries before the Roman conquest.
A Warrior Aristocracy
Burial chamber reconstruction. Credit: Wikimedia, Public Domain, CC BY-SA 3.0
In Gaul, the Celtic nobility gained power through land ownership, mining, artisanal production, and trade. This social elite consisted of warrior leaders who excelled in cavalry skills. The lives of these Gauls were entirely devoted to war. When Caesar wrote about them, he called them equites (knights). From a young age, nobles received rigorous training and were highly attentive to their horses. They achieved a high level of cavalry skills thanks to the strength and speed of their mounts.
In battle, the men fought bare-chested and shouted to terrify their enemies. A good warrior was one who fought to the death. Fleeing or being captured by the enemy was forbidden and considered humiliating. By 100 BCE, however, dying in battle was no longer an obligation for warriors.
Religion of the Celts
Vix palace, late 6th century BC. Credit: Wikimedia, CC BY-SA 4.0
Originally, the Celts worshiped the sun, mountains, forests, and rivers. They venerated as many deities as there were springs, fountains, forests, etc. Depending on the tribe, the Celts might worship the same god under various names or different gods altogether.
It is often believed that the Celts had a pantheon. Indeed, they created a series of gods that Julius Caesar compared to Roman deities. For instance, Taranis, the Gallic god of thunder and the sky, was assimilated to Jupiter. However, these deities did not form a unified group. They remained isolated and were often honored locally. Nevertheless, there were major deities common to all Celts, such as Taranis.
Other notable examples include Epona, the protective goddess of horses and riders; Cernunnos, the stag-horned god representing the renewal of nature’s forces; and Lug, a god associated with Mercury. Their attributes varied depending on the inspiration of the artists, reflecting a certain indifference to official religious norms. Moreover, the Gauls continued the worship of mother goddesses, a tradition dating back to the Neolithic period.
The Role of Druids and Bards
Celtic gods were honored through rites led by the druids. In this society, where everything was based on the sacred, druids held considerable influence. Due to the scarcity of written sources left by the Gauls, information about them remains fragmentary. Druids formed a privileged class and fulfilled a priestly role. The training to become a druid was open to all and could take up to twenty years. Education was conducted orally, through long poems recited or sung.
In addition to their religious functions, druids were interested in other studies, particularly astronomy, mathematics, and anatomy. They were also responsible for educating young nobles and taught philosophy and science. For instance, they developed a lunar calendar and units of measurement such as the league (a measure of length) and the arpent (an agricultural measure).
Druids were influential sages and advisors to kings. They acted as judges, with Celtic law being considered of divine origin. Every year, they gathered in the forest of the Carnutes to render justice. People with disputes would come to them and had to accept their rulings. For druids, nothing was more sacred than mistletoe from the oak tree. They harvested it once a year in November. The druidic sanctuary was a sacred grove made up of oaks.
Bards and vates (prophets) worked alongside the druids. The bards composed songs glorifying princes, while the vates prepared religious ceremonies and also acted as sacrificers and soothsayers.
After the 1st century BC, druids were threatened by Augustus, Tiberius, and Claudius, who condemned their barbarism, especially regarding human sacrifices. The political influence of druids during the Gallic Wars led the Romans to attempt to eradicate them. Gradually, they lost their political and judicial responsibilities.
Agriculture and Salt
Alongside the aristocracy and the druids was the common people, consisting of farmers, herders, and artisans. According to Caesar, society was unequal: “They [the people] are hardly treated differently from slaves, unable to take any initiative, not being consulted about anything. Most, overwhelmed by debt or crushed by taxes, or subjected to the vexations of the powerful, give themselves to nobles; these nobles have the same rights as masters over their slaves.” These statements seem extreme because by the time Caesar studied life in Gaul, aristocratic power had declined, and popular assemblies had emerged, mainly among the most powerful tribes (Bellovaci, Aedui, Nervii).
In the two centuries before the birth of Christ, Gaul was a true breadbasket. The rich and fertile land, combined with deforestation, allowed the Gauls to prosper on their territory. This is one reason Caesar conquered Gaul, as he needed to find sixty tons of grain per day to feed his army.
In Gaul, farmers grew cereals such as barley, millet, spelt, oats, rye, einkorn, and wheat, which was used to make bread. With barley, they brewed cervoise, the precursor to beer. They also cultivated cabbage, peas, onions, and garlic. Vine and olive cultivation spread in the southern region. The use of the plow equipped with an iron blade made plowing easier. Raising pigs, goats, sheep, poultry, and cattle was part of daily life.
Salt extraction was an important activity for the Gauls. Two techniques were used to collect it. Along the Atlantic coast, salt was harvested using containers called “augets,” thin clay sheets about 2 mm thick. Around 200 of these augets were placed on a hot furnace, allowing the exploitation of 20 liters of saltwater per day. The other method involved collecting seawater after high tides, which was mixed with freshwater. The resulting brine was poured into trays, and evaporation was forced to obtain salt.
Celtic Craftsmanship
The Celts were skilled artisans who mastered numerous techniques for working with raw materials. The discovery of iron, much more durable than bronze, allowed them to produce various tools. Initially reserved for weapons, iron was later used to make a wide range of everyday tools (hammers, nails, hinges, files, drills, sickles, knives, spoons, ladles, etc.).
Enameling, a Gallic specialty unknown to the Greeks and Romans, involved applying tinted glass paste to iron, either in flat areas or by pouring it into grooves made for that purpose. When heated, the paste became liquid, and the metal was heated to ensure both substances reached the same temperature. Once cooled, the piece was polished with a sandstone to highlight the enamel. This technique adorned brooches, torcs, bracelets, and sword scabbards.
Pottery initially served domestic needs, and potter’s wheels were used to make tableware. Over time, decorative elements like moldings and painted designs were introduced. Gallic potters also mastered the technique of reducing firing. Everyday pottery was gray or brownish and came in simple shapes.
The Gauls excelled in woodworking to the extent that some modern terms come from Gaulish words (such as “chariot” and “cart”). The Romans, impressed, either purchased Gaulish carts or imitated them. The Gauls produced a wide variety of wooden objects across many domains: chests, furniture, buckets, etc. The invention of barrels eventually replaced amphoras, which were less practical for transporting wine. Ash wood was used for wagon construction and tableware, oak for furniture and barrels, and yew for woodcraft.
Celtic Gaul: A Mosaic of Tribes
One thing is clear: Gaul did not possess political unity. It was composed of tribes ruled by local leaders and more powerful peoples led by a nobility. The most significant were the Aedui, Arverni, Bituriges, Carnutes, Sequani, Remi, Veneti, Pictones, Santones, Lemovices, Treveri, and Helvetii, all located in central Gaul. These groups formed states that united various civitas (city-states). From the 2nd century BCE onward, a civitas represented a people recognized by a common ethnic origin and varying territorial size. Each people was further divided into tribes, and within each tribe were families linked by a shared lineage. The size of a civitas varied from one group to another.
Until the 5th century, continental Celtic languages, including Gaulish, were spoken in Western Europe (Gaul, Hispania, and northern Italy), but their importance declined under the influence of Latin, and little is known about them today.
By the 2nd century BCE, the Celtic peoples ceased their migrations across different regions of Europe. In Gaul, they began to build their first cities, called oppida. Some cities emerged from the transformation or relocation of a village, while others were newly founded where no previous settlement existed. The founding and development of these settlements are generally attributed to two events: the invasion of Gaul by the Cimbri and Teutons at the end of the 2nd century BCE, and the creation of the Roman province of Narbonensis. The first event increased the need for protection, while the second allowed the Gauls to observe Roman cities and replicate them. Today, through extensive archaeological excavations, we know that the creation and development of these cities reflected significant changes in Gaulish society.
The Romans Enter Gaul
The Romans entered the scene as early as 125 BCE, helping Marseille defend itself against a coalition of Gauls and Ligurians. The following year, the consul Sextius Calvinus captured Entremont and founded the Roman colony of Aquae Sextiae (Aix-en-Provence) nearby. Two years later, the Roman army defeated the Allobroges, the most powerful Gaulish people on the left bank of the Rhône.
The Arverni, who came to assist the Allobroges, were also defeated, and the Romans annexed new territory, including the Rhône valley up to Vienne and Geneva, the entire southern slope of the Cévennes up to the Tarn, and westward to the Garonne valley near Agen. This led to the creation of the first Roman province in Gaul, Provincia, in 120 BCE. From that moment, numerous trade relations were established between the Romans and the Gauls.
Roman interference in Gaul became increasingly intense, culminating in Julius Caesar’s decision to conquer it in 58 BCE. Caught between the Romans and the Germanic peoples, the Celtic world gradually disappeared, with its language surviving only on the Atlantic fringes of Europe, in the British Isles (Wales, Scotland, Ireland) and in Brittany.
In the Middle Ages, the imaginary is an integral part of reality. The world of that time cannot be conceived otherwise. Within this panorama, both real and wonderful, plants play a major role in various domains. Whether from a political, heraldic, literary, or material perspective, the plant world is everywhere. Often, as is common almost everywhere in the Middle Ages, the Scriptures justify certain choices and give meaning to the staging of particular flowers, plants, or vegetative structures.
First, we will focus on the literary domain with the case of the honeysuckle in the poetry of Marie de France. Subsequently, with the example of medieval gardens, we will explore how correspondences are woven between the material world and the imagination of the people of that time. Then, we will examine the fleur-de-lis, viewed more from a “political” angle, to clarify the myths surrounding it. We will conclude with a brief symbolic history of the apple.
Natural Symbolism in Marie de France: Honeysuckle and Hazel
Among the works attributed to Marie de France, a 12th-century poet, there is a collection of twelve brief stories written in octosyllabic verse, the Lais. These stories, which are relatively short in length, are imbued with assured love and eroticism. In the 12th century—the period of composition of these “poems”—fin’amor was flourishing. However, this carnal passion was not accessible to everyone. It was the privilege of noble people, of the Lady and her lover. The erotic symbolism of the lais is embodied in various elements, some of which are quite material. Nature can also play the role of awakening and revealing the senses. Fauna is particularly favored, especially birds, which are much appreciated by the poetess. Additionally, flora is well-represented, which is what interests us here.
To describe the union of lovers, Marie de France uses the famous and evocative image of the honeysuckle entwining the branch of the hazel tree. This theme already appears in various mythologies, such as in Celtic tradition. This vegetal metaphor is actually used to courteously illustrate the union of Tristan and Iseult. However, the embrace of the two lovers should not be perceived as purely carnal. As mentioned, Marie de France’s poetry is part of the fin’amor tradition, where courtly values are paramount. The honeysuckle conveys an image of purity and freshness, perfectly aligning with the sentiment the poetess wishes to evoke in the reader.
While the honeysuckle itself carries a strong symbolic charge, the hazel tree—and more broadly, the surrounding trees—give the story an ambiance conducive to the flourishing of romantic feelings. Both attractive and unsettling, the forest is a space where sensuality can bloom. Hidden behind the branches, the two lovers experience a privileged moment. It is also thanks to the wood that Tristan is recognized by his beloved. On a hazel branch, he carves his name, allowing Iseult to follow his trace.
The image of the honeysuckle entwining the hazel branch is also an evocation of absolute and infinite love. Indeed, as Marie de France clearly states, once separated, the two plants die shortly afterward. The honeysuckle and hazel form an inseparable couple, just like Tristan and Iseult. Should separation occur, the outcome will be tragic. This is encapsulated in Marie de France’s beautiful concluding phrase in the lai: “Neither you without me, nor I without you.”
The use of plant imagery here invokes both purity and freshness, where the erotic tension is thereby intensified. It is this interplay of dualities that gives the poetess’s lai its full flavor.
Reality and Imagination in Medieval Gardens
From the 11th to the 13th century, the population of the West grew significantly, leading to an increasing demand for gardens. Consequently, the medieval lexicon is rich in terms used to describe these types of spaces, sometimes described from a utilitarian perspective, other times staged in literature infused with Christian or secular culture. Generally, the courtil refers to the small plot of land adjacent to the house where some vegetables are grown for local consumption.
From the 13th century, the term casal appears in the southwest to describe a similar type of space. Alongside these utilitarian gardens, the pourpris is more present in literature. It typically refers to a plot enclosed by a wooden fence or thorny bushes (hawthorn, rosebush…). Similarly, the jarz or vergier are places of tranquility where lovers meet among flowering trees, preferably in May.
Contrary to what one might think, gardens are not only found in rural areas. Indeed, until at least the 12th century, the urban fabric remained sparse enough to accommodate numerous gardens, vineyards, meadows, or barns. Even in the second half of the 13th century, large urban centers still had many such spaces. Toponymy has preserved traces of this, as evidenced by the street names in Paris: Rue des Rosiers, Rue des Jardins, Rue du Figuier…
In 14th-century Reims, there were still about 46 urban gardens. As housing density increased and construction took over undeveloped land, gardens were pushed to the periphery while still remaining within the city walls. Cities were also surrounded by a “gardening halo.” These gardens supplied the city with vegetables, fruits, wine, and other roots or medicinal plants. In any case, in the city, owning a garden could be considered a sign of wealth. Aristocratic, knightly, and soon-to-be merchant families used this element to assert their social preeminence. Louis IX himself owned a vergier on the tip of the Île de la Cité.
The design of a garden was thought out based on the role it would serve. In general, care was taken to enclose it to prevent animal—and sometimes human—intrusions. Fruit and vegetable thefts were common and sometimes led villages into long-lasting disputes. To prevent this, one could use branches, hedges, stone, or bricks when the means allowed.
Beyond the purely utilitarian function, the enclosure also became a marker of a spiritual space that invited meditation. The enclosed garden then directly referenced those in the Scriptures. A prefiguration of Paradise on earth, it became the place where the divide between savagery and civilization took shape. Similarly, many jarz and vergiers featured fountains. Beyond the obvious utilitarian aspect, the clear and pure water flowing through them resembled the four rivers irrigating Paradise.
The flora of ornamental gardens was varied. Flowers were highly prized and sought after. Here, too, the symbolism of plants played a major role, as seen in the Roman de la Rose… In fact, rose cultivation was widespread in the Middle Ages. The red rose and its bud were enough to evoke love and eroticism. Alongside, one often found wild roses, gladiolus, lilies, daisies, and other wildflowers. In addition to offering a bit of shade and precious fruits, trees were cultivated with particular care.
There was also a great variety of species: service tree, cherry, chestnut, fig, pomegranate… Non-fruit trees like ebony, laurel, plane tree, or pine also composed the landscape of these medieval gardens. The same applied to aromatic or medicinal plants. Ultimately, a good ornamental garden was one that appealed to all the senses: the bright colors of the flowers; the varied scents of herbs; the softness of petals against the rough bark of trees; the enchanting sound of branches swaying, sheltering lovers hidden behind a thick flowering bush.
The Power of Flowers: The Lily
There are many myths and legends surrounding the fleur-de-lis. However, it is an authentic historical object connected to various fields, including politics, dynasties, art, emblems, and symbolism. This stylized figure can already be found on Mesopotamian cylinder seals or engraved on Egyptian bas-reliefs. It even appears in Japan as well as on Sassanid fabrics. The oldest depictions of the flower, resembling those known in medieval Western Europe, date back to the 3rd millennium BCE in Assyria. Of course, its meaning changes with each period and in each region. Nevertheless, the lily almost everywhere maintains connections with power.
The Middle Ages endowed the fleur-de-lis with a threefold religious dimension. First, it became a Christological symbol, based on the Scriptures, particularly this passage: “I am the flower of the field, and the lily of the valleys” [Song of Solomon 2:1]. With the development of Marian worship in the 13th century, the lily became a marker of purity and virginity, once again referencing the Scriptures: “Like a lily among the thorns is my darling among the maidens.” [Song of Solomon 2:2]. Medieval iconography frequently associates the Virgin Mary—and more broadly, noble ladies—with the lily. Finally, the evocative shape of the flower allowed theologians to make it an allegory of the Trinity and associate it with the three essential virtues: Faith, Wisdom, and Chivalry.
The lily is also associated with power, as mentioned earlier. From the 14th century, chroniclers enjoyed telling that Clovis himself was the first king to adopt it. However, the Merovingian’s choice of the fleur-de-lis is purely a medieval invention. The first serious material evidence of a direct link between the flower and royalty dates to 1211, with the seal of Prince Louis, the future Louis VIII. However, under the influence of figures like Suger or Saint Bernard, the Capetians, at least since Louis VII, seem to have used the lily as a sign of their piety, without yet making it a royal attribute.
The arms of azure scattered with golden fleur-de-lis are definitively attested around 1215, thanks to a stained glass window in the cathedral of Chartres. However, it is plausible that from the reign of Philip Augustus (1180-1223), the lily had already been incorporated into the royal arms. Thus, by using the floral emblem, the Capetian monarchy placed itself directly under the protection of the Virgin Mary. The king became the mediator between Heaven and Earth.
With its new coat of arms, the king of France distinguished himself from other sovereigns in several ways. While England favored the leopard, the Empire the eagle, or Castile the castle, the Capetian was the only one to use a floral emblem. Similarly, he was the only one to use a scattered pattern (semé). The cosmic dimension was undeniable and was reinforced by the choice of colors—blue and yellow—which directly evoked the starry sky. From 1372, the scattered lilies were replaced by three fleur-de-lis. This time, it was not the Virgin who watched over the monarchy but “the blessed Trinity.”
In general, from the 11th to the 15th century, the French monarchy maintained close ties with the plant world. Consider the lily, of course, but also the flowering rod, the scepter, and the flowered crown. Similarly, Valois princes and kings drew heavily on floral emblems: roses, daisies, irises, holly, currants… We can also add the famous oak of Saint Louis, of which Joinville enjoyed recounting that it “often happened in the summer [that the king] would go to sit in the woods of Vincennes after mass, lean against an oak, and have us sit around him.”
However, the use of the fleur-de-lis was by no means a royal monopoly. Elsewhere, it functioned as a heraldic emblem in its own right. It is mainly found in the arms of the lesser and middle nobility of northern Europe, or even in Italy. Similarly, in some regions like Normandy, many peasants engraved a lily on their seals. Here, it was a common figure with no apparent direct link to its power symbolism.
In rural areas, it was more associated with the plant world and fertility than with the monarchy. Cities like Lille or Florence even adopted the lily as their main emblem within their coats of arms. In both cases, the flower played a “speaking” role through the Latin terms lilium and flor. Finally, many abbeys or cathedral chapters used the lily, which then took on its full religious dimension. Ultimately, the fleur-de-lis in the Middle Ages had different uses and carried multiple symbols depending on the context in which it was found.
In medieval culture, the apple frequently relates to theft on one hand and pleasure on the other. In the West, it became the quintessential fruit, while this role was occupied by the pomegranate in Islamic civilization or the plum in Japan. In Latin, the term pomum was used to refer to fruits in general. We still find traces of this today: pomme de terre (potato), pomme de pin (pinecone), pomme d’or (golden apple)… The word pomum evokes the idea of roundness. A distinction was then made between fleshy fruits (malum) and those with shells (nux). In summary, the apple is first referred to as pomum and then as malum.
Since antiquity, the apple has often been associated with the walnut when depicting the plant world. In the medieval period, a new pairing emerged: the apple and the pear. These two fruits love and compete with each other simultaneously. The pear’s curved shape and soft texture made it resemble a woman, while the apple played the masculine role. Numerous proverbs depicted the two fruits. In the 13th century, it was said that “there is no worse pear than an apple,” or that “an apple given is better than a pear eaten.”
Mythology has long had a close relationship with the apple, dating back to antiquity (see The Judgment of Paris). Think of Avalon, described as the insula pomorum by Geoffrey of Monmouth in the 12th century. On this mythical island where heroes and illustrious kings rest, King Arthur awaits his messianic return. Everything grows naturally around him, and the place is guarded by the fairy Morgan le Fay. To attract certain travelers and grant them immortality, Morgan and her fairies waved apple branches. As often, the apple served as a connection between the world of the gods and that of men. Similarly, many mythical stories depicted this fruit as one capable of bestowing immortality.
The apple also entered the realm of power. Since the late Roman Empire, the scepter, crown, and spherical globe were the typical attributes of royal or imperial power. In the Middle Ages, Byzantine and German emperors, and some kings, retained the globe. It was not uncommon for it to be compared to a real apple, both in texts and in iconography. For example, at the end of the 12th century, the orb of the Holy Roman Empire was called the Reichsapfel, or “apple of the Empire.” In this case, the use of our fruit symbolized the prosperity and abundance guaranteed by the emperor.
It was also in the Middle Ages that the tree of knowledge (Genesis 2:16-17) took the form of an apple tree through a clever process. Indeed, in Latin, the word for apple and the word for evil are the same, malum. Medieval culture liked to link words and things. Furthermore, the apple tree as a symbol of knowledge could also find its roots in other mythologies—such as among the Celts—or in the Arthurian cycle. For example, it is under an apple tree that Merlin tests his knowledge when practicing magic.
In addition to these positive aspects, the apple was also viewed with suspicion and intrigue. The theme of the poisoned apple is already attested at the beginning of the 13th century in Le Morte d’Arthur (The Death of Arthur). Guinevere was accused of offering our venom-soaked fruit to Gaheris the White. Similarly, the apple could be associated with the Devil’s abode. At certain times, it could harbor creatures reviled by medieval culture—worms. These vile insects were believed to be born from decaying flesh. Moreover, the Scriptures remind us that “for the punishment of the ungodly is fire and worms” [Sirach 7:17-19]. A final negative aspect, which would deserve an entire article, is the connection between the apple and woman. The evil couple par excellence, it is the symbol of the Fall caused by Eve plucking the forbidden fruit.
Ultimately, the apple is one of the most prevalent fruits in both scholarly and popular culture of the Middle Ages. Taken in a positive light, it could bestow immortality, and blossoming apple trees were considered the most beautiful trees. Taken negatively, the apple became malevolent and dangerous, symbolizing female corruption and evil.
The Mediterranean has been at the heart of Roman history since the founding of Rome, and even more so as its imperialism developed. This allowed it to control the entire Mediterranean region within a few centuries, leading to what is commonly called “Mare Nostrum,” although the term is not widely used in Latin sources and has more of a political rather than geographical meaning.
However, as early as the 2nd century AD, under the reign of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman Empire’s center of gravity seemed to shift more towards the north. Did this change the relationship between Rome and the Mediterranean, and how did it evolve until the reign of Constantine?
Later Use of “Mare Nostrum”
The term was revived by Benito Mussolini in the early 20th century as part of his vision of restoring Italy’s ancient imperial glory. Mussolini sought to re-establish Italian dominance in the Mediterranean, using the phrase to invoke the memory of the Roman Empire. His regime pursued expansionist policies in the Mediterranean, including the occupation of Libya, Ethiopia, and Albania, though these ambitions ultimately failed during World War II.
A Mediterranean Still Vital to Rome?
The Roman Empire at its farthest extent in AD 117. Note, however, that the Sea is called Mare Internum, “Inner Sea,” on this map. Credit: Wikimedia, CC BY-SA 3.0
Rome was less and less occupied by power, but the Mediterranean itself seemed to be less central to Roman concerns, with a few exceptions (such as the East). This was mainly due to the barbarian threats along the borders of Gaul, the Rhine, and the Danube. However, it would be wrong to say that the Mediterranean lost its importance in Rome’s functioning and life; it remained vital!
At the beginning of the 3rd century, it still concentrated the majority of Roman trade, and especially the supply of essential goods to the heart (despite the emperors’ increasing distance) of the Empire. Rome depended entirely on the transport of essential foodstuffs (such as wheat) via the Mediterranean. Did this situation evolve later, particularly during the crisis of the 3rd century and under Constantine’s reign?
Let us first describe the geographical situation of the Mediterranean. The Mediterranean is not a sea, but a succession of liquid plains communicating with each other through more or less wide gates. The Mediterranean space is thus, above all, varied, in terms of terrain but also climate depending on the regions. The presence of numerous peninsulas also explains the complexity and irregularity of winds and currents.
This variety partly explains why the Romans, far from feeling a sense of “unity” that one might find in the concept of Mare Nostrum, referred to the Mediterranean with local criteria, speaking of the Mare inferum (Tyrrhenian), superum (Adriatic), Africum, etc.
In terms of geography, the seasons are more or less favorable for navigation: according to sailors of antiquity, the Mediterranean only had two seasons, one good and one bad, but this distinction depended on the regions. Winter was thus the bad season when the Romans used the term mare clausum (closed sea), at best engaging in coastal navigation and certainly not in deep-sea voyages or large commercial expeditions.
The good season began in March with the festival of Navigium Isidis and lasted until November 11, for the most optimistic, though this period was not without risks. Since voyages were intra-Mediterranean, sailors had to face the variety of winds and currents, and the alternation between calm and rough seas, depending on the regions, as mentioned earlier.
Roman Navigation in the Mediterranean
We are particularly interested in the ships (commercial, with military ships discussed later) and the maritime routes, distances traveled, etc. According to M. Reddé, there were “symmetric” and “asymmetric” hulls, but most appeared to be round (thus rather symmetric), and ships with shallow drafts often had to be ballasted in case of strong winds. The sails were usually square or rectangular, with ships featuring up to three masts by the 3rd century.
Steering was mainly done with two large oars fixed to either side of the stern. The most important aspect of commercial ships was, of course, their tonnage, or carrying capacity: under the Empire, most ships carried around 450 metric tons, but it became increasingly common to see ships reaching 1,000 tons or more.
Regarding navigation itself, sailors primarily relied on the wind, which determined their routes in the Mediterranean. Moreover, they navigated mostly by “dead reckoning” (despite knowledge of the stars or currents) in deep waters, which could lead to voyages of varying lengths. On the other hand, when close to the coast, sailors relied on “Peripli” (ancient travel itineraries) that listed water sources, reefs, dangers, or possible shelters. In any case, shorter routes often allowed for avoiding piracy (which will be addressed in the third part).
All maritime routes (like the land routes) led to Rome, specifically its ports: Puteoli, followed by Ostia and Portus (independent from Ostia in 313). Starting from the East, the most frequented routes went from Egypt to Italy, passing either through Crete or Africa; also in the East, there was a route from the northern Aegean Sea to Corinth and the port of Lechaeum via the isthmus, as well as one from Syria to Italy via Cyprus or Crete.
In the western Mediterranean, routes passed through major ports like Carthage, Cartagena, Arles, Marseille, to reach Ostia, from which routes also connected to the islands of Sardinia, Sicily, and Corsica. M. Reddé uses specific examples to study these routes, such as records like the “Stadiasmus of the Great Sea,” of uncertain origin, and especially the “Antonine Itinerary” from the 3rd century AD, which provides information on the maritime routes between Rome and Arles, illustrating coastal navigation, the most common practice.
The duration of voyages, as we have seen, depended greatly on navigation conditions. It appears, for example, that it took between 15 and 20 days to travel from Alexandria to Puteoli, 20 days from Narbonne to Alexandria, and 2 days from Africa to Ostia. These are relatively short journeys, likely one of the factors in the intensity of exchanges in the Mediterranean.
Ports were, of course, the nerve centers of maritime trade. They were generally of two types: the older ones were often located outside cities (Ostia for Rome, for example), while the newer ones were within the cities themselves (such as Alexandria). All were developed, with enclosed harbors and buildings for commerce; thus, what was called a macellum in Ostia or Puteoli, or an agora in the East, were sorts of local markets intended to distribute goods brought by maritime trade, which then spread throughout the rest of the Empire.
While we won’t discuss all the ports, we can mention Ostia, Rome’s major port, still vital during the period we are studying, up until 313 when it specialized in the annona (grain supply), which we will return to. It was primarily developed under Claudius (41-54 AD) and expanded under Trajan (98-117 AD); its basin could accommodate 200 ships and was connected to the Tiber River. It gradually replaced Puteoli, particularly from the 2nd century AD onwards. Besides Ostia, the other major ports were mainly Alexandria and Carthage, due to their roles in shipping wheat to Rome, and later to Constantinople from the 4th century onwards.
The concept of Mare Nostrum is a general one that does not exactly reflect the reality of the time, especially in terms of geography, but it provides a fairly accurate idea of Roman mastery of the Mediterranean. The Romans knew how to control it, thanks to a substantial fleet (though this varied over time) and a network of important ports, all supported by knowledge of routes that dated back to before the Empire. But this control had a purpose: commerce and, above all, the supply of Rome. It was not absolute, however, and was subjected to various pressures, particularly as barbarian threats became more pressing, leading to the involvement of the Roman war fleet.
Products and Trade in the Mediterranean
Piece of the edict in the Pergamon Museum, Berlin. Credit: Public Domain
What is the nature of the exchanges and goods circulating in Roman Mediterranean trade, how is commerce regulated, and what is the importance of the annona for the life of the Empire?
The products that move along the trade routes we have described include wine, for example, which mainly comes from Catalonia, Gaul, but also Rhodes and even Asia Minor. It is also obviously present in Italy (mainly in Campania). Spain exports garum (fish sauces), olive oil comes from Baetica or Africa, wheat from Egypt (or also from Africa), and textiles from Syria. Precious goods often transit through Alexandria or even Carthage; these are silk, ivory, pearls, etc., and in the 3rd century, they could come from India via the Red Sea. Similarly, there were exchanges with the Persians and the Chinese through the ports of Syria. Finally, from distant Africa came wild animals for venationes (public spectacles of wild animal hunts), slaves, and ivory.
Let’s focus, however, on key products of commerce during this period, knowing that their quantity and quality often account for the wealth and importance of the provinces from which they originate. First, wine: present in Italy, the finest wines are produced primarily in Campania; vineyards can also be found in the western provinces up to southern Gaul, and even in Africa.
In the wine trade, while the Italians were able to export and benefit during the early days of the Empire, they gradually lost their advantage to the wines of Hispania and Gaul, with provincial wines soon representing the bulk of trade, even though Italian wine continued to be exported along the Danube, and the finest wines still came from the peninsula.
Olive oil, on the other hand, mainly concerns Baetica and Africa and is linked to the services of the annona (which we will address later); it is exported not only to Rome where it is stored but throughout the West, reaching as far as Britain and Germany. There is also olive oil production in Syria, but it is less well-known, and it is unclear whether it was exported like the oil from Baetica and Africa. Olive oil is a product regularly distributed starting with the reign of Aurelian, on a daily basis.
Finally, wheat is the most important commodity, and through it, we can discuss the annona: wheat is brought to Italy from Egypt and Africa, but also from southern Gaul, Sicily, and Spain. Egypt had to prevent famine in Rome by providing enough to last four months, equivalent to 20 million modii (172 million liters). The transport arrived at Portus starting in 313, between March 1st and November 15th, through the navicularii, who deserve further attention: they were private traders responsible for the annona, as it should be noted that Rome did not have a “state” merchant fleet.
The navicularii were often families (such as the Fadii of Narbonne), owning their own ships, and they were organized into collegia or corpora; Jean Rougé referred to them as “capitalist societies.” They transported annona provisions at the emperor’s request in exchange for privileges (such as using the ships for their private activities), benefiting all parties involved.
Commerce itself, relatively free before the 3rd century, became increasingly controlled and regulated as the 4th century approached: the Edict of Maximum Prices in 301 provided the price for transporting goods: 16 denarii per military bushel between Alexandria and Rome, 4 from Africa to Nicomedia, 20 from Syria to Spain. According to the “Expositio Totius Mundi” (an anonymous 4th-century source), trade was flourishing in the Empire, especially in the eastern Mediterranean, while in the West it seemed to be slowing down, despite the growth of the port of Arles.
The Annona
This service was created by Augustus but was more relevant than ever to Rome during our period, even though it underwent modifications. Its mission was to supply Rome with wheat, to prevent famines that had regularly affected the city in the past. A prefect of the annona, of equestrian rank, was in charge. In a career path, one could be a prefect of the annona before becoming a prefect of Egypt or the Praetorian Prefecture, highlighting the importance of this role. According to Pavis d’Escurac, the prefect of the annona was responsible for “gathering, transporting, and storing the wheat quotas essential for the needs of the entire capital.” Under Aurelian, he had at his disposal the arca frumentaria and arca olearia, funds to help manage these supplies.
From the 3rd century onwards, the annona also included olive oil, and it was managed by a procurator of the annona and a freedman procurator. At the same time, the ports responsible for the annona, mainly Portus and Ostia, were placed under the control of a procurator of both ports. The system was later simplified in the second half of the 3rd century. In the provinces, provincial procurators managed the annona, stationed in specialized granaries like those in Neapolis and Ad Mercurium in Alexandria. With the tetrarchy, a prefect of the African annona also appeared, reporting to the praetorian prefects, while the vicars of dioceses also became responsible for supplying Rome with wheat.
The Organization of the War Fleet
Roman military ships were galleys, partly inspired by the Greeks. They were not round but long and slender, designed to be fast and maneuverable. Unlike merchant ships, they were primarily oar-powered, requiring a large crew and not depending on the wind. However, a drawback of these galleys was their fragility in rough seas, though they were still willing to venture out.
Their main difference from transport ships was, of course, their armament: galleys were equipped with various rams meant to smash the enemy’s hull, sometimes with towers at the front and/or back, and an “artillery” of ballistae that launched either stones or bolts (sometimes flaming). Finally, there were different types of galleys, varying in shape, size, the number of decks, or rowers, such as triremes or polyremes.
These main warships, supported by auxiliary vessels, were stationed in military ports, the principal bases of the Roman fleet, though other “civilian” ports could host them during movements in the Mediterranean. The main military ports were those of Ravenna and Misenum, tasked with protecting the Italian peninsula with the fleets known as classis praetoriae.
They were founded by Augustus, with Misenum in particular noted by Tacitus and Suetonius, while Ravenna may have been used as a military port before Augustus’ reign. According to Dio Cassius, Ravenna could accommodate 250 ships, though it was unclear if they were all warships, as the port might not have been solely for military use. As for Misenum, its installation may date to 12 BCE, but its fleets were transferred to Constantinople in 330.
The Roman fleet had numerous and varied missions, although for a long time, escorting merchant fleets did not seem to be a priority, for example. The Pax Romana led the fleet, for several centuries, to mainly carry out “police” missions rather than strictly military ones, as Rome completely controlled its maritime domain and had no enemy capable of raising a significant fleet. It thus served as support to the land army, primarily handling its supply.
So, what could its other missions have been? Concerning commerce and its control, can it be said that the military navy played a role, particularly with the annona? There were military personnel at the service of the annona, though they were rare, such as the cornicularius procuratoris annonae in Ostia; however, they were probably only assigned to the role, not sailors.
Coastline defense might have involved the Roman navy; under the principate, the post of praefectus orae maritimae was created, reserved for knights, but the magistrate apparently did not have a fleet under his command. Therefore, these were not missions that can be attributed to the Roman navy. However, the navy was useful in times of peace for transporting officials and acting as an escort during troubled and less secure periods, such as the one under discussion.
As we see, it is quite difficult to define the missions and therefore the usefulness of the Roman navy, especially in peacetime. This seems to have weakened it, while threats became more pressing in the Mediterranean itself by the 3rd century. Did the Roman navy then react, and if so, how? During this period, the fleet continued to be administered and “centralized” in the ports of Ravenna and Misenum (each with a prefect) despite the difficulties. For instance, M. Cornelius Octavianus, according to epigraphic sources, commanded the fleet of Misenum in 258–260. Therefore, the Roman navy did not disappear during the 3rd-century crisis, and it had to respond to the threats.
The Navy in the Face of Threats
Until the reign of Valerian, the military navy was active, primarily in supporting ground troops and providing supplies. However, the death of Trajan Decius in 251, on the Danube, marked a turning point as this river became the route through which barbarians threatened the Mediterranean, leading to the navy’s involvement in this region, where it was weakest. In 267, the Pontic fleet had to retreat before the Goths, who then poured into the Aegean Sea and the eastern Mediterranean, even threatening Egypt! The prefect of the province faced them off the coast of Cyprus in 270.
Under the reign of Probus, another episode demonstrated that the navy no longer controlled Mare Nostrum: the Franks, departing from the Pontus, stole ships and managed to cross the straits to pillage Sicily and Italy! They pushed as far as Gibraltar without ever confronting a Roman fleet. Piracy, in turn, resurged, as confirmed by a text from Ammianus Marcellinus (4th century); the Cilicians were specialists in this, but this mainly reflected Rome’s loss of control over certain populations.
However, the situation was not entirely grim for the Roman navy: aside from the Frankish raid, most of its difficulties occurred in the eastern Mediterranean, with the West, and therefore Rome, being relatively spared. It was thus more a breakdown of the naval defense system rather than the entire navy. Later, with Diocletian’s reforms (which affected, among others, the military and the navy), an evolution took place.
According to a source from Justinian’s time, the Roman navy had a personnel count of 45,562 men during the Tetrarchy. However, the Constantinian period witnessed a real transformation of the Roman navy in the Mediterranean: Constantine used the navy for his reconquest of Italy in 312, while his rival Maxentius had used it for Africa in 310-311. The Roman navy was therefore divided along the same lines as the Empire. Constantine’s victory caused the fleets of Ravenna and Misenum to lose their title of praetoria, as they were purged for supporting Maxentius.
Constantine reorganized the fleet and transferred its key bases to Greece, and later to Constantinople, his new capital. This period thus saw a shift in the fleet’s operations after the barbarian threats and the civil wars that followed the Tetrarchy. New squadrons were created, a balance was struck in favor of the East and Constantinople, leading to a more scattered and less massive navy, focused on defense and possibly better equipped to face new barbarian threats like those of the late 3rd century.
The Mediterranean, therefore, remained central to the Empire’s life, despite the shift of its center of gravity northwards due to invasions and the emperor’s distance from Rome. The Mediterranean continued to serve as Rome’s main commercial zone during this period, with the annona (grain supply) remaining just as important. The changes mainly affected certain sectors like the management of the annona, increased control over commerce following the Edict of 301 (despite the preservation of the navicularii), and especially the Roman navy, which, after failing to respond to barbarian invasions, proving it was no longer capable of ensuring full “Romanness” of the Mare Nostrum, had to reform under the Tetrarchy and Constantine.
This period, therefore, was primarily one of transition and adaptation for Rome concerning its maritime space, possibly signaling the beginning of the end of Mare Nostrum.
The Battle of Camarón (Mexico, 1863) is a foundational episode for the French Foreign Legion, which celebrates this “French version of the Alamo” every year. In 1862, France came to the aid of Emperor Maximilian, whom they had installed on the Mexican throne. On April 30, 1863, a detachment of about sixty legionnaires distinguished themselves at Camarón by standing their ground against 2,000 Mexicans. This minor historical event, within the context of the Mexican expedition launched by Napoleon III, has been elevated by the Legion to become a cornerstone of its tradition.
Context of the Battle of Camarón
Since its independence, Mexico had been a weakened country both territorially (having ceded California, Utah, Nevada, Colorado, New Mexico, and part of Wyoming to the United States), politically (with strong divisions between conservatives and liberals), and especially economically. In 1858, under the presidency of the anticlerical Benito Juarez, a rebellion led by conservative generals shook the country.
By 1861, President Juarez had finally pushed back the rebels, but the conflict delivered a fatal blow to Mexico’s economy. Despite the nationalization of church assets, the country found itself unable to repay its European creditors. Juarez decided to suspend debt payments for two years to Spain (9 million pesos), France (3 million), and especially the United Kingdom (70 million).
For Napoleon III, the French emperor, this was an opportunity. A military intervention could replace the weak republic, which was embroiled in civil war and defaulting on its debts, with a Catholic empire allied with France. This was a good way for France to extend its informal empire and its “soft power” over the New World. The opportunity was even more favorable since the United States, embroiled in its own civil war, was in no position to intervene with its Mexican neighbor.
However, the Mexican expedition was not to appear as a purely French imperialist initiative. Everything was decided in collaboration with other powers affected by Mexico’s debt: Spain and the United Kingdom. Thus, on October 31, 1861, the London Convention took place, providing the framework for a military expedition in the name of debt repayment and the protection of European nationals. The official and shared goal of the intervention was to pressure the Mexican government by seizing ports on the east coast.
But for Napoleon III, the idea was to offer the Mexican crown to Archduke Maximilian, brother of the Austrian emperor, which would also strengthen ties between France and Austria in Europe. Mexican émigrés had convinced him that the people were tired of civil wars and awaited a monarchical restoration, promising to rise as one to fight alongside the French.
International Operation Against Mexico
Thus, a coalition intervened against the Mexican republic: the Spanish, who were already in Cuba, sent General Joan Prim with 6,300 men against their former colony. The British contributed their key asset, the navy, under Admiral Dunlop. France deployed the largest contingent. On December 17, 1861, the Spanish landed, followed by the French under Admiral Jurien de La Gravière on January 8, 1862. The French expected a jubilant crowd in Veracruz, eager for the return of the monarchy, which would provide many local recruits. However, that was not the case. They only rallied the modest, ragtag group of General Galvez (about 200 men).
Worse, the sanitary conditions quickly deteriorated in this region, known as the “Hot Lands,” where yellow fever and black vomit (vomito negro) were rampant. Facing this precarious situation and the Mexican republic’s desire to find a peaceful solution to the conflict, a convention was signed at La Soledad. This agreement allowed the allies to advance further inland, where the fever was less severe, while they negotiated a debt settlement. The allies signed the convention, although Jurien de La Gravière disliked this implicit recognition of the Mexican government.
Anxious to leave this inhospitable region, the Spanish and British quickly concluded a new financial agreement (which would be no more respected than the previous ones) and withdrew their troops.
However, the French side saw a different outcome. Jurien de La Gravière was dismissed, General Latrille de Lorencez took command of the troops, and France embarked alone on a phase of conquest. Citing the mistreatment of French residents in Mexico, the French Empire declared war on a “wicked government that had committed unprecedented outrages.”
Beginning of the Mexican Expedition: The Siege of Puebla
The French expeditionary corps, numbering fewer than 7,000 men, with 10 cannons (small 4-pounder pieces), few supplies, and no reserves, was about to embark on a hazardous conquest of Mexico. On April 27, Lorencez marched on Puebla de Los Angeles, a city portrayed to him as loyal to monarchists and ready to open its gates. However, on May 4, he found himself facing a fortified city defended by 12,000 Mexicans. Outnumbered and receiving little support from the hoped-for popular uprising, Lorencez attempted an assault, which ended in failure.
Fully aware of his lack of military resources to carry out any conquest, Lorencez retreated (in what is called the Retreat of the Six Thousand) to Orizaba, where he dug in, awaiting reinforcements from France. Lorencez’s reports detailed the absence of any monarchist faction supporting France. As if this defection wasn’t enough, Maximilian himself seemed hardly invested in the future of his hypothetical kingdom. However, for Napoleon III, withdrawal so soon after a failure was not an option, so he sent reinforcements: around 23,000 men landed during the summer under General Élie-Frédéric Forey, who reestablished contact with Lorencez, now dismissed from his duties.
For Napoleon III, the situation had become increasingly complex. His plan now seemed to be to overthrow Juarez’s republic and establish a stable government while awaiting a popular consultation to determine the country’s future political direction (which was barely feasible in a country without an administrative structure). Whether this ended with an Austrian or a Mexican in power mattered little to France as long as they remained a loyal ally in the future.
For the moment, it was necessary to conquer the territory, and for that, Forey took the time to equip his forces, purchase mules and horses (from Cuba and the United States), and familiarize himself with the new theater of operations: a hostile country both geographically (lack of roads) and in terms of its inhabitants (the development of guerrilla warfare). Between him and Mexico stood General Ortega and the Mexican army, as well as the city of Puebla. Forey decided to organize a formal siege around Puebla, where he arrived on March 12, 1863. After heavy artillery preparation, Fort San-Javier was taken on March 28, marking the start of a long street battle that would only end in mid-May with a French victory.
Battle of Camarón
During the siege of Puebla, the communication line with Veracruz was crucial. Supplies and ammunition arrived through this route, making it a vital axis for the French army. Naturally, it became a prime target for Mexican guerrillas, who constantly harassed French troops in the area. To secure the zone, the French deployed 400 men from the Egyptian Negro Battalion (provided by the Viceroy of Egypt), counter-guerrilla troops under General Dupin, and four battalions of the Foreign Regiment.
It was in this context that the 3rd Company of the 1st Battalion of this regiment was annihilated in the village of Camarón (later known as Camerone) after a heroic resistance. The details of the combat at the hacienda are only known through reports from survivors. From these testimonies, the official and epic account of the battle was written and read to legionnaires every April 30th:
“The French army was besieging Puebla. The Legion’s mission was to ensure the movement and safety of convoys over 120 kilometers. Colonel Jeanningros, the commander, learned on April 29, 1863, that a large convoy carrying three million in cash, siege equipment, and ammunition was en route to Puebla. Captain Danjou, his adjutant-major, decided to send a company to meet the convoy.
The 3rd Company of the Foreign Regiment was selected, but no officers were available. Captain Danjou took command himself, and Sub-lieutenants Maudet, the standard-bearer, and Vilain, the paymaster, volunteered to join him.
At 1 a.m. on April 30, the 3rd Company, consisting of three officers and 62 men, set out. They had traveled about 20 kilometers when, at 7 a.m., they stopped at Palo Verde to make coffee. At that moment, the enemy revealed itself, and the battle immediately began. Captain Danjou formed a square formation, and while retreating, successfully repelled several cavalry charges, inflicting significant losses on the enemy.
Upon reaching the inn at Camarón, a large building with a courtyard surrounded by a three-meter-high wall, he decided to fortify there to hold off the enemy and delay their ability to attack the convoy for as long as possible.
While the men hastily organized the defense of the inn, a Mexican officer, highlighting their overwhelming numbers, demanded Captain Danjou’s surrender. He responded, ‘We have ammunition, and we will not surrender.’ Then, raising his hand, he swore to defend to the death and made his men take the same oath. It was 10 a.m. For eight hours, these 60 men, without food or water since the previous day, resisted 2,000 Mexicans: 800 cavalry and 1,200 infantry, in extreme heat, hunger, and thirst.
At noon, Captain Danjou was shot in the chest and killed. At 2 p.m., Sub-lieutenant Vilain was struck in the forehead and fell. At that point, the Mexican colonel succeeded in setting the inn on fire.
Despite the heat and smoke that increased their suffering, the legionnaires held their ground, though many were wounded. By 5 p.m., only 12 men capable of fighting remained around Sub-lieutenant Maudet. At that moment, the Mexican colonel gathered his troops and told them how shameful it would be if they failed to defeat this small group of brave men (a legionnaire who understood Spanish translated his words as they were spoken). The Mexicans were preparing for a general assault through the breaches they had opened, but before attacking, Colonel Milan once again summoned Maudet to surrender; Maudet scornfully refused.
The final assault began. Soon, only five men remained with Maudet: Corporal Maine, and legionnaires Catteau, Wensel, Constantin, and Leonhard. Each still had one cartridge left; they fixed bayonets and, taking refuge in a corner of the courtyard with their backs to the wall, prepared for a final stand. At a signal, they fired point-blank at the enemy and charged with bayonets. Maudet and two legionnaires fell, mortally wounded. Maine and his two comrades were about to be massacred when a Mexican officer intervened and saved them. He shouted, ‘Surrender!’
‘We will surrender if you promise to care for our wounded and allow us to keep our weapons,’ they replied, with their bayonets still threatening.
‘We refuse nothing to men like you!’ responded the officer.
Captain Danjou’s 60 men had kept their oath to the end. For 11 hours, they resisted 2,000 enemies, killing 300 and wounding as many. Through their sacrifice, they saved the convoy and completed their mission.
Emperor Napoleon III decided that the name “Camarón” would be inscribed on the Foreign Regiment’s flag, and that the names Danjou, Vilain, and Maudet would be engraved in gold letters on the walls of the Invalides in Paris.
Additionally, a monument was erected in 1892 at the site of the battle. It bears the inscription:
‘Here, fewer than sixty men Faced an entire army. Its mass crushed them. Life rather than courage Abandoned these French soldiers On April 30, 1863. To their memory, the nation erected this monument.’
Since then, when Mexican troops pass by the monument, they present arms.”
However, the official account says nothing of the events that allowed the survivors to tell their story. In fact, Captain Saussier’s company, which arrived at the scene the next day, found only the drummer Laï, who had been left for dead with nine bullet and lance wounds. General Dupin’s counter-guerrilla troops attacked the village of Cueva Pentada on June 13 and liberated one of Camarón’s survivors, Legionnaire de Vries.
On June 28, they took the village of Huatusco, defended by guerrillas who had participated in Camarón, and discovered Sub-lieutenant Maudet’s grave, which two Mexican officers had entrusted to their sister’s care in vain. Finally, on July 14, 1863, twelve surviving prisoners were exchanged for Mexican Colonel Alba. Thus, 14 legionnaires survived the battle. Most of them were promoted and decorated.”
Camarón: the Founding Myth of the Foreign Legion
In the broader context of French history, and even within the scope of the Mexican expedition, the Battle of Camarón is just a small event—essentially a skirmish involving only about sixty French soldiers. Nevertheless, this “French Thermopylae” has been completely mythologized and glorified, to the point that it overshadows the collective memory of the expedition’s ultimate failure in Mexico. So why this fascination with Camarón? Every military corps needs its traditions, its “founding myths” of sorts, with memorable events where past heroes are held up as examples. The Foreign Legion, which was still quite new at the time (founded in 1831), needed its own.
A few months after the event, Colonel Jeanningros obtained permission from the emperor to have the name “Camarón” embroidered on his regiment’s flag (a practice now extended to all Legion flags). Napoleon III also had the names “Camarón, Danjou, Maudet, Vilain” inscribed on the walls of Les Invalides. On May 3, 1863, Colonel Jeanningros erected a wooden cross at the battle site, inscribed with “Here lies the 3rd Company of the 1st Battalion of the Foreign Legion.” This cross was later replaced with a stone column. In 1892, the French consul Edouard Sempé raised a monument through public subscription, which was rebuilt and inaugurated in 1965.
Camarón is, therefore, a real historical event in which a small group of legionnaires distinguished themselves. However, through commemoration, the event has been essentialized to embody a certain spirit. What is called the “spirit of Camarón,” which is meant to inspire every legionnaire, is the ability to obey and fight to the death (since almost the entire force was wiped out) for the success of the mission (the Mexicans were delayed, and the convoy was saved). In other words, it symbolizes true self-sacrifice and a sacred sense of duty.
The sacred aspect is not an exaggeration, especially considering that Camarón includes what could be seen as a relic: Captain Danjou’s wooden hand. This prosthesis was searched for in vain by the relief column and was allegedly taken by a Mexican guerrilla before ending up in the hands of a French ranch owner near Tesuitlan, where Austrian lieutenant Karl Grübert reportedly purchased it.
According to other sources, it was found during the arrest of General Ramirez. Colonel Guilhem deposited it at Sidi Bel Abbes (the Legion’s headquarters) in 1865. Today, it is housed in the crypt of the Legion’s Museum of Remembrance in Aubagne and is only brought out for commemorations of the battle. Danjou’s hand has all the characteristics of a religious relic: a debated origin, sanctification in a significant place, and regular exhibition for an important celebration.
Since 1906, the official account presented above has been read to legionnaires every April 30th, so that the example of these sixty men from the Second Empire becomes a model. The phrase “faire Camarón” has spread beyond Legion ranks and into society, becoming synonymous with “fighting to the ultimate sacrifice.
Won by General Napoleon Bonaparte over the Mamelukes of Egypt on July 21, 1798, the Battle of the Pyramids is the most prestigious (and rare) French victory of the Egyptian campaign. It left to posterity one of the most famous quotes from the future emperor: “From the top of these pyramids, forty centuries of history are watching you!”… Following in the footsteps of Caesar and Alexander, the young general led the armies of the Republic into a mad military and scientific adventure on the land of the Pharaohs, occupied by the legendary Mamelukes… At the gates of Cairo, their mythical cavalry, reputed to be the best in the world, was crushed by the infantry of the French expeditionary force. This is the story of an “Egyptian Azincourt” at the foot of the millennia-old pyramids.
The Egyptian Campaign
In 1798, the Directory entrusted General Bonaparte with an expedition to the eastern Mediterranean aimed at disrupting British interests in the East. On May 19, 1798, the French fleet departed from Toulon with 32,000 men aboard.
Evading the vigilance of the English navy, the French expeditionary corps of the Egyptian campaign seized Alexandria on July 2, 1798. Posing as a liberator of Egypt by driving out the tyrannical Mamelukes with the blessing of the Sublime Porte, General Napoleon Bonaparte was, in reality, seeking to establish the first colony of the French Republic. A colony where scholars were tasked with creating the first social, agricultural, and industrial structures for long-term exploitation.
Additionally, it was intended to sever a major commercial route from the English and serve as a base for a grand expedition towards the Far East, towards India, where they would fight the hereditary enemy alongside Maharajah Tipu Sultan. Hoping for the passivity of the Ottoman Empire in the face of this fait accompli, Bonaparte aimed to catch the 10,000 Mamelukes, who controlled the country under the command of twenty Beys, by surprise.
Bonaparte had 40,000 men, but morale was low among the French soldiers, who, instead of finding an Eden, encountered a poor, starving country where the majority of the population consisted of wretched souls tormented by vermin. Bonaparte, therefore, aimed to move swiftly, to surprise his enemy and uplift his army with the euphoria of victory. The temperature reached 50°C in the shade, and the thick Western uniforms were not suited to this stifling climate.
The most sensible, reasonable path was the sacred river of Egypt, the Nile, a miraculous serpent of life in the midst of this arid land. But it was also the most predictable path, where they would be expected, and Bonaparte decided to bypass any potential defense by cutting directly through the desert, leaving only a flotilla to sail down the river from Rosetta to join the army at Ramanieh.
The Desert Crossing
Desaix’s division led the vanguard, followed by Reynier, Dugua, Bon, and Vial’s divisions. A week of desert crossing, a week of unimaginable suffering under a blazing sun. Water was scarce, the wells were filled with stones or clogged with salty earth, the cisterns found along the way were empty or poisoned, and they had to dig to find a source. Soldiers rushed and crushed each other for a sip of water; in the rear guard led by Bon, they were ordered to use teaspoons!
Food was also scarce, and the miserable huts encountered along the way did not provide the necessary supplies. Without mills or ovens, the army could not make use of the few wheat fields. The most prudent soldiers carefully preserved some melons picked before departure, and especially beans.
Foragers were sent to buy provisions in the few villages encountered, but the hostile and impoverished population had mostly fled. In Damanhour, the foragers of Reynier’s division were greeted with gunfire, and the battle ensued, with the resisters executed. The desert expanses thinned the ranks, disillusioned, exhausted, disoriented by mirages, suffering from ophthalmia, overwhelmed by the heat and deprivation, men resorted to suicide or fell behind… Around them lurked the Bedouins, predators circling a flock, who, unable to attack head-on, waited for a weakened individual to fall behind…
Those unlucky enough to fall into their hands were brutalized, slashed, and raped, and often only bloodied bodies were found. The atmosphere was ripe for revolt, as the veterans of the Army of the Rhine did not hold the same respect for the general-in-chief as those of the Army of Italy. Even the generals doubted, lost their tempers, and trampled on their hats. Desaix bluntly told Bonaparte: “If the army does not cross the desert with the speed of lightning, it will perish.” On the map, the route was only about a hundred kilometers, but the conditions were extreme, and they quickly decided to march at night.
Chebreiss: The Prelude to the Battle of the Pyramids
At the end of the journey, the soldiers’ joy at the sight of the Nile was equal to that of the Hebrews discovering manna from heaven. The half-brigades scattered, and everyone threw themselves into the river. A watermelon field marked this long-awaited moment. But already some Mamelukes were approaching, and they were chased away by gunfire. On July 10, Murad Bey sent a flotilla and 4,000 cavalry to meet the French. The clash occurred at Chebreiss, where the division formation in squares was inaugurated: these squares were actually rectangles, formed by six rows of infantry on the long sides, three rows on the short sides, with cannons loaded with grapeshot at the corners, and the cavalry, civilians, and baggage protected in the center.
The Mamelukes had blind faith in their cavalry, reputed to be the best in the world. Overconfident, they looked down on the invaders, thinking they would crush them at the first charge. Circassian slaves trained from a young age for war, the Mameluke cavalrymen were overarmed warriors who, carrying all their wealth in their saddlebags, fought fiercely to defend their possessions.
Adorned on all sides and emitting wild howls, their frenzied charge was enough to impress any ordinary mortal. But the French infantrymen were no longer easily impressed; most of them were veterans of the Rhine or Italy and waited calmly for the order to fire the deadly volley. At the Battle of Chebreiss, the Mamelukes’ counterattack was stopped dead by the discipline of the French soldiers. They retreated, leaving behind 300 cavalrymen, 400 to 500 infantrymen, and nine iron cannons on the burning sand.
On the river, the fight was fierce as the French fleet was boarded by Egyptian ships. The sailors, dismounted cavalrymen who were aboard, as well as the civilians (including Monge, Berthollet…), showed bravery and repelled the attackers. The Egyptian fleet withdrew as the current carried away the remains of a gunboat.
“From the top of these pyramids, forty centuries are watching you!”
The Beys were not as subdued by this defeat; they continued to haggle, no real recognition was made, and they still ignored where the enemy was coming from. Although they were certain of Bonaparte’s presence on the left bank of the Nile, they did not take the necessary measures to defend Cairo: their army could have entrenched itself on the right bank and patiently waited for a landing that it could have repelled at any point thanks to its cavalry’s mobility. Instead, Mourad Bey settled on the left bank, while Ibrahim Bey remained on the right in case a French army had landed on the other side.
After allowing his troops a bit of rest, Bonaparte resumed his relentless march toward Cairo. The army trudged through the burning sand dunes, constantly harassed by the Bedouins. On July 19, the village of Abou-Nichoubi put up fierce resistance against the French vanguard. The repression was ruthless, with civilians executed and houses burned. This brutal example rallied some of the local sheikhs. The divisions kept each other within sight, and on July 20, the pyramids appeared on the horizon.
Informed by spies of the isolation of Mourad’s army on the left bank, the attack was decided. At two in the morning, the army set off and marched 24 km to engage the enemy in the early afternoon of July 21, 1798. There, Bonaparte launched his famous proclamation (perhaps edited later):
“Bonaparte, member of the Institute, commander-in-chief.
Soldiers!
You have come to these lands to tear them from barbarism, to bring civilization to the East, and to free these beautiful regions from the yoke of England. Remember that from the top of these Pyramids, forty centuries are watching you!”
The Bey, along with his women, wealth, and slaves, had entrenched himself with 6,000 men—peasants, Nubians, and Janissaries—in the village of Embabeh, on the banks of the Nile, where Ibrahim’s boats and galleys sailed. Along the river, the Mamluk cavalry and about 20,000 irregulars were positioned. These latter forces, being mere peasants armed with sticks and clubs, had little military value, but the goal was to form a mass. Without tents to sleep in or organized supplies, they were often forced to return home in the evening.
Bonaparte had his divisions form squares and advanced them toward the heights of Waraq-el-Hader (2 km from the enemy camp), while Mamluk horsemen retreated as the army advanced. The right wing, commanded by Desaix, anchored itself at the village of Biktil and moved beyond it. The village, offering some resources and formidable defensive positions, became a strategic point where Reynier and Desaix positioned grenadiers, dismounted dragoons, line infantry, light infantry, and an artillery company.
Forming a curved line, the French divisions (Desaix, Reynier, Dugua, Vial, and Bon) stretched from the pyramids to the Nile, where Bon’s division anchored itself. Once in position, the order to rest was given, and the men dispersed to eat and drink. Suddenly, multicolored dots began to stir on the horizon.
The Battle Preparations
The Mamluks, feeling threatened with encirclement by the right wing’s advance, took up positions. Hastily, the French rejoined the ranks, reformed their squares, and prepared to face the best cavalry in the world. The first rank aimed bayonets at mid-height, the second and third ranks stood at the ready, weapons at shoulder, prepared to fire, and the last three ranks were kept in reserve. After an artillery salvo, the Mamluks charged, their hooves pounding the ground, a cloud of dust rising as golden harnesses flashed through the air.
The French soldiers remained impassive, shoulder to shoulder.
Despite a fierce headwind, this half-human, half-animal torrent hurled itself furiously at Reynier’s and Desaix’s divisions, emitting savage cries. At half-range, the French officers gave the order to fire, and a deadly volley brought down the first rank, which collapsed amid the neighing of horses and the cries of the wounded, trampled by their comrades. A second volley felled the riders in a cloud of smoke. The charge, shot down at point-blank range, faltered just steps from the French squares; the cavalry turned back, while the most fanatical impaled themselves on the wall of bayonets.
Some wounded Mamluks found the strength to crawl toward the French ranks, attempting to cut the infantry’s legs with their scimitars, but they were slashed to pieces. The cavalry circled in frustration. Trying to bypass the position, they charged between Desaix and Reynier but were caught in a crossfire. Unfortunately, the squares weren’t staggered enough, and friendly fire caused around twenty casualties. Within five minutes, 300 cavalrymen had been killed, about twice as many were wounded, and a panicked part of the Mamluks fled the battle. The others charged the village of Biktil, where they were repelled by the French, who were entrenched on rooftops and in gardens.
Some soldiers sent to fetch water from a nearby village hurried back to join the squares. A dragoon was caught by a Mamluk rider, and an epic duel ensued, as the entire army held its breath. Captain François recounted:
“At the moment when the Mamluks charged toward the village of Belbeis, several soldiers escaped and rejoined their divisions. A dragoon from the 15th regiment was attacked by a dismounted Mamluk; a fight broke out between them in the middle of Desaix’s and Reynier’s divisions. These two generals ordered a ceasefire on the side where the two adversaries were locked in combat. Finally, the dragoon killed the Mamluk and returned to the square; he had taken his enemy’s saber, a saber with a solid silver scabbard, as well as his dagger and pistol.”
The Battle of the Pyramids
In twenty minutes of battle, the cavalry disbands; a few riders take refuge in a park of palm trees to the west, from where they are driven out by skirmishers. The others return to the camp, spreading panic in Embabeh, where the Cairenes rush to the boats to save their lives. Meanwhile, Desaix and Reynier’s soldiers, who bore the brunt of the attack, seize the spoils, recovering equipment and treasures left in saddlebags and belts.
Bonaparte, galloping from one square to another, orders Dugua’s division to advance and position themselves between the Mamluks and Embabeh, and instructs Bon and Vial to capture the village. Two detachments form into columns and launch the assault, using a ditch as cover from enemy artillery. Vial maneuvers around the village from the west, while Bon sends Marmont and Rampon to attack. The forward flankers are charged in turn; forming squares, they fire point-blank at the Mamluks, so close that the gunpowder ignites their tunics, which continue to burn on the corpses.
The defenders fire their poorly maintained artillery but do not have time to reload before the French fall upon them. The Cairenes scatter, and only about 1,500 Mamluks remain, who are either killed or thrown into the Nile. The attackers capture the village, chasing the fleeing Egyptians along the Nile until they are forced by a wall to plunge into the river en masse.
Before Ibrahim’s reinforcements could land, the rout was complete. Many of the fugitives drown in the sacred river, including Ibrahim’s son-in-law, who is repeatedly struck by an enraged oarsman, killing him. Some sailors sink their ships to prevent them from falling into French hands, while Mourad’s vessel, filled with gunpowder, runs aground and is set on fire. Meanwhile, Desaix’s division resumes its march towards the Giza Plateau, pushing Mourad Bey’s last warriors before them.
A Victory That Forges Bonaparte’s Glory
In this memorable battle, which would become a significant episode in the Napoleonic epic, the French suffered 300 killed and wounded. On the other side, the Mamluks lost between 1,500 and 2,000 men, 20 cannons, 400 camels, and all the baggage from Mourad’s camp. Mourad himself, wounded, fled to Upper Egypt, while Ibrahim Bey hastened towards Syria. Bonaparte declared that he had crushed the bulk of the Mamluk forces, though this needs to be tempered by the fact that, as was their custom, the Mamluks fled once they realized victory was impossible.
Nevertheless, the general-in-chief could now return to Cairo, deserted by its elites, and proclaim Egypt liberated. Indeed, he had just conquered all of Lower Egypt and regained the confidence of his army. Enriched by the spoils and finally camping on the fertile banks of the Nile, the French reveled in their victory over an exotic enemy of incomparable bravery. A clash of cultures, infantry maneuvers had prevailed over the most violent charges. Disconcerted, the Egyptians remained convinced that the French soldiers must have been tied together in their squares to maintain such formation.
The Cairenes, who had fled and been looted by Bedouins, gradually began to return to the Egyptian capital, somewhat reassured by the behavior of the victor.
Although the battle took place at Embabeh, Bonaparte rightly believed it would have a greater impact on public opinion, and enhance his personal glory, by associating it with the pyramids, symbols of Pharaonic Egypt.
